In the Arms of My Enemy
by Harry Potter you're my hero
Summary: -ON HIATUS- He had never seen her like that. It was as if she was a different person – a powerful, preternatural, almost otherworldly being... a demon of his own creation. He remained frozen in place as she whispered in his ear, "Draco… Am I a monster now?" DMHG
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: In a wonderful little world I call my mind, Harry Potter belongs to me.**

In the Arms of My Enemy by Harry Potter you're my hero

**Prologue**

_It is a blessing to die for a cause, because you can so easily die for nothing._ – Andrew Young

Death is inevitable.

Everyone died eventually; there was no avoiding it. One could choose not to think of it, not to broach the subject… but it's always there. Lurking in the corner watching with unblinking eyes, waiting to be noticed from the peripheral vision of a passerby… Waiting to be acknowledged, waiting with great patience as the person moves on; blaming the anomaly on a trick of the eye.

But it was always there, death was, waiting patiently for the flame to burn out – for darkness to come. And like the night death would always come, slowly cloaking everything in an impenetrable darkness.

He knew more about death than most; had seen it with his own eyes many a time. It was never a pretty sight. More often than not a rather large amount of blood was involved. Sometimes the victim lost control of bodily functions, urinating and even defecating on themselves. There was crying, pleading, always the pleading. Some for a quick, merciful death. Some for mercy. Some to spare loved ones; some to die in another's stead. But it was the quiet ones he couldn't forget, the ones who remained eerily silent as they writhed and twitched as the curses ravaged their bodies…

His mother had gotten quiet towards the end, watching him with her glossy eyes…

Draco Malfoy pushed the thought from his mind. He knew he should be afraid, his instincts screamed it to him. Telling him to run, and run fast. Yet his feet remained planted firmly in the manicured green grass of his family's home. He could not run, not this time. He _would not_ run. He was going to die helping bring down the most powerful wizard in history.

It mattered not how his death happened; either way his end would come. But he did mind very much who was going to do the killing.

His death would be a quick one, he knew, for even though his killer was evil, she was merciful. After all they had been through together, experienced together; she wouldn't have it in her heart to draw it out. He knew she didn't have a choice… it was either him or her. But he couldn't help but hope just the tiniest bit that there might be a shred of that legendary Gryffindor courage left that she would use to save the both of them.

But there was no chance of that.

Draco Malfoy knew it better than anyone else. He had stood by and watched, even helped, as she changed from the saintly, bookish friend of Harry Potter who wouldn't willingly hurt a fly into one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, the very essence of evil.

No, Draco was not scared of dying. He had known this moment had been coming for some time… in a way he could almost sense it. He had known that eventually he would be caught; his good luck would run out. Helping the sworn enemy was a very dangerous and difficult task, and frankly, he was shocked that he hadn't been caught sooner… that no one had noticed how the Golden Trio seemed to _always_ get away, _always_ one step ahead. He had been sending information to the Order of the Phoenix for nearly three months before they managed to capture her.

She had seemed so helpless, so vulnerable. No one, not even the Weasel, came looking for her. It appeared as if she was deserted, another victim lost to a doomed cause.

She stood before him now, the vulnerable girl. Her wand shaking as she pointed it at his heart. An agonizing expression on her features as her chocolate eyes begged him for forgiveness.

In that moment, Draco realized something. He had been wrong about her, so wrong… he couldn't despise her anymore, couldn't knowingly look her in the eyes and say all the things he had told her without ripping out his own heart and tearing it to shreds. All he really wanted to do was reach out and touch her, hold her close and say that she didn't have to worry anymore; everything would turn out all right in the end.

But it would be a lie. Nothing was going to end well. He knew it and so did she, he just wished she knew how sorry he was… for everything.

And so he forgave Hermione Granger for what she was about to do to him, because he knew there was nothing else he could do.

He would not be afraid. He would not fight her. He would go quietly, knowing he helped make the world a better place.

Draco watched as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She looked like she was sleeping angelically with not a care in the world, and for a split second he wondered if she was not going to do it. If they could run away, leave everything and everyone behind, start fresh in a whole different country.

It would never happen. She opened her eyes, looking at him. She had the appearance of a statue; cold, unfeeling stone watching him with unseeing, unblinking eyes.

It was then that Draco felt the first unmistakable trickle of fear run down his back. His feet acted of their own accord, defying their master as they stepped back involuntarily, threatening to run. He had never seen her like that. It was as if she was a different person – a powerful, preternatural, almost otherworldly being.

He remained motionless as Hermione Granger seemed to glide toward him, a demon of his own creation. The distance between them closed in an instant.

She came so close that he could feel her breath tickle his neck as she gazed up at him. Could feel the heat of her flesh against his, the bulbous point of her wand poking him in the chest, then dragging down his torso as she lowered it to her side. Could see the faint smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

Suddenly, she smiled coyly, as if waking from a dream and realizing their close proximity. She stood to her tiptoes, looking Draco in the eyes. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. And then, with deliberately slow moves, she brushed her lips over his, so lightly that it had felt like a feather upon his lips. He remained frozen in place as she whispered in his ear, "Draco… Am I a monster now?"

She returned to her feet, all the while watching him with a demure smile. He watched her eyes as she jabbed her wand into Draco's ribs. Cold, unseeing. It was at that point that an awful fear, the worst he had ever felt, flooded his body.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Tell me what you think!


	2. The Plan

**DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Harry Potter. I own Larry Dotter.**

**Chapter 1: The Plan**

_All great ideas are dangerous. _– Randall Jarrell

One year earlier…

Hermione Granger stared out one of the bedroom windows of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, watching the Muggle children play in the warm summer air. She wondered if the children realized just how lucky they were to be able to go outside and bask in the warm rays of sunshine she so sorely missed and not have to worry about who saw them. How lucky they were that they didn't know the horrors of the war that was going on right under their little noses.

Just three months earlier she had been like those children. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was still the safest place for all underage wizards and witches, and no one could have ever imagined that the war would get inside the ancient castle walls. But it did, and brought along with it devastating changes. Professor Dumbledore, headmaster since before Voldemort was even in school, had been killed by the man he should have never trusted in the first place.

Dumbledore's death was a huge blow to the Order of the Phoenix. Many lesser members had deserted the Order, saying that if Dumbledore was dead, what was to stop the Death Eaters from killing them all? Hermione knew they were only frightened, and to be honest she was too, but would never admit it. She wouldn't desert Harry and Ron no matter what. She knew that Voldemort was trying to separate them to isolate Harry and make him an easier target.

So they went into hiding, to the only place that was still safe.

In number twelve, Grimmauld Place, they were free to do as they pleased as long as they didn't leave. It was a form of torture not to know what was happening outside the dreary walls of that house, not knowing if their friends were dead or alive. Of course, when Moody or Lupin would show up, Hermione would question them relentlessly, but it seemed as if the Death Eaters had simply disappeared. There was no sign of them anywhere; no new attacks, no sightings, it was as if they had gone into hiding as well.

Adding to their confusion, Harry, Ron and Hermione had been receiving small notes that were supposedly from a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle. Most were merely lists of names, names of well known Death Eaters and possible new inductees, but there were also ones that had warnings like,

_He knows where you are. Keep your eyes open and proceed with caution._

The notes did prove to be helpful, because the day after they received the one, Hermione saw three of the supposed new Death Eaters hanging around a Muggle market close to their hiding place while she hid under the Invisibility Cloak. From then on, everyone remained indoors.

And though she had no reason to believe the notes were from a Death Eater, or true for that matter, she was secretly grateful to whoever was risking their life to help the Order.

Hermione sighed. What she wouldn't give for just a moment in the sun! To be outside with no Invisibility Cloak, not wondering when she would see a Death Eater, just her and the outside air; warm, dry, her hair tickling her face in a soft breeze. She couldn't even remember what it felt like out there.

The children began disappearing into their respective houses. The sun was sinking fast, bringing with it the cover of night and a spike of uneasiness in Hermione.

Yes, she knew they were perfectly safe in the confines of Sirius Black's family home, but night brought darkness, and in the dark on one could be sure who was lurking out of doors trying to figure out a way in.

There was always the threat Severus Snape presented, for he had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix before he became a traitor, and therefore he knew how to get inside. He could easily tell the secret to Voldemort and all the rest of the Death Eaters. Then what was to stop them from coming and capturing Harry, Ron and her when they were asleep and unarmed?

Hermione stood and closed the heavy moth eaten drapes. She proceeded to make her way through the damp old house and into the kitchen where she found Harry and Ron having a heated discussion.

"But what if it's a lie!" Harry insisted, "What if this Death eater wrote it, thinking that when we try to leave they attack?"

"Harry, this person obviously wants to help us! Why would they have sent us all those other notes? Besides, it says they are coming in two days. Why not run for it now, with only the _possibility_ of being caught, rather than sit and wait here, knowing they are coming and not do anything about it?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and began rubbing his temples.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, sitting at the table beside Ron. Something in Harry's eyes as he glanced at her made her very nervous.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny piece of crumpled paper, sliding it across the table. "We got another note from that person."

Hermione sent a worried look in Ron's direction before picking the paper up and opening it.

_Danger imminent. Planning attack in two days time. Leave__ immediately__!_

She felt a shiver of fear. This was bad, very bad. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Ron answered, grabbing Hermione's hand and squeezing it.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head, keeping his eyes on the table. "It looks like we don't have a choice. We'll have to leave."

"But where will we go?" She asked anxiously, pulling her hand out of Ron's. "We all know this is the only safe place we have."

"I don't know!" Harry shouted suddenly, causing Hermione to jump. He leapt out of his chair, causing it to fall over with a clatter. "I don't know what to do! I'm sick of making all the decisions! You both have bloody brains don't you?" He began pacing back and forth, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

"Harry, calm down," Ron said, "No one is asking you to do anything."

Hermione looked at the note again. Could it be possible that whoever had wrote the note was lying? What if the person writing those notes was only doing it as part of a plan to get the Golden Trio to trust them by sending notes then attack them when they let their guard down? "We have to let Moody and the rest of the Order know about all this. They can help us," Hermione said quietly.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, still fuming. "No one else needs to be involved in this. No one else needs to get hurt because of me! It would be better to just hand myself over to them, just to get this stupid mess over with."

"Harry, be reasonable," Hermione continued, "You and I both know that that is a stupid idea. We have a better chance if the Order of the Phoenix helps us. We can't go up against the Death Eaters alone, they know things we can't imagine."

"So you're saying you want to stay and fight?" Harry asked.

"No, what I'm saying is that the Order can come, help us escape, and we can go from there."

"Why? So they can find us all over again? You know that the second we leave this house we will have to stay in a different place every night and constantly be aware of who's around. We need to stay here and fight, it's a better than running."

"There has to be a better plan," Ron chimed in, his brow furrowing.

"A better plan? A better plan?" Harry was shouting again. "Ron, there is only _this_ plan! Voldemort has got us in checkmate position! Either way he is going to win and he knows it!"

Hermione closed her eyes, tuning out Harry's ranting, and thought. There had to be a better plan! But only two days! That wasn't nearly enough time to do anything big… They would still be thinking of something when they were attacked… But two days was plenty of time to escape, Hermione thought, it was a good thing that whoever it was had sent that note, knowing what was going on inside Voldemort's innermost circle…

It was as if something clicked in her brain then, like a light switch being turned on. Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before? They needed someone on the inside of Voldemort's world, someone reliable; someone they knew. One to feed information more important than names to the Order of the Phoenix; with someone on the inside, the Order would have locations, places and times for events, they would know about missions, the opportunities seemed endless. Why, they could even attack the Death Eater camps!

Hermione smiled as she opened her eyes and watched Harry continue pacing and shouting. "Harry," she called, "Harry!"

"What?" he yelled, stopping to stare at Hermione. Anger filled is features as he noted her smile and he added, "Do you think this is funny? We are in serious danger!"

"Harry," she began, "I've got it. I know what to do. I don't know why I didn't think of this before… We need someone on the inside."

"But we already have one," Ron interrupted, gesturing at the piece of paper on the table.

"No, listen. While we do have someone slipping us information, it isn't very much and it certainly isn't reliable. There needs to be someone we can trust."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"We need to send one of us, a member of the Order, to the other side! Just think of it. No one would suspect a thing; maybe a deserter or the deserted, but not a double agent! And then we can get information that is absolutely true, locations and such of Death Eaters and even Voldemort! Just imagine the possibilities!"

Harry smiled widely. "Hermione you're a genius! But who would we be able to trust? And who would be stupid enough to even try this?"

Hermione considered for a moment. There weren't too many people they could trust, not after what happened to Dumbledore. It couldn't be any of the Aurors; they would be killed right away. That left only three members of the Order; Harry, Ron, and herself. But Harry couldn't, that would be disastrous. And Ron, well, Ron tended to think with his temper rather than his mind. Being stuck with a bunch of Death Eaters wouldn't be good. Only one person left.

"I could do it," she said softly. Harry and Ron stared at her open mouthed.

"Are you mad, Hermione? This is suicidal!" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, I don't see why I'm not any more eligible than either of you or the rest of the Order."

"Hermione, they'll kill you if you go," Harry said, "Besides, we need you with us."

"Why? Because you need me to wait with you for the Death Eaters to come to us? We can't keep doing this! We can't wait for them to attack us. We need to attack them, and it will be a lot faster if we know _where_ the Death Eaters are hiding."

"Hermione please don't do this. You'll get yourself killed."

"The Death Eaters won't kill me; Voldemort will want the honor, so that gives me a little time. And if I can convince him I'm a deserter or whatever else he may think I am, he won't kill me, at least not at first. Even if I can just get that location to you, you can attack and help make a dent in his forces."

Harry began pacing again. Ron continued to stare at Hermione, though his face was turning as red as his hair.

"There has to be another option," Harry muttered.

"Yes, there is," Hermione replied. "We can stay here, wait for the Death Eaters to come get us, die, and let Voldemort win. Harry, come on, you know I can do this."

"I know you can, Hermione. But I don't think _I_ can. If you die because of this…" Harry trailed off.

"It will be for the benefit of our cause," Hermione finished for him.

"Don't put yourself through this. We can figure something out, we have time," Ron remarked.

What didn't they understand? It was the only way to finish things once and for all.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Time is the one thing we do not have, Ron. The enemy is attacking in two days. There is no way we could gather enough people to help us in that time. And I'm sick of hiding from Voldemort! I have to do this. I know I can do it."

Hermione looked to Harry. Surely he would see the importance of the matter at hand.

He sighed loudly. "I know you can, but how?" He righted his chair and sat down wearily.

Hermione offered Harry a small smile before answering, "That's what we need to figure out. Of course, we'll have to have a more inconspicuous method of communication than owls, and I'll have to have a believable story…" The magnitude of what she was to do rushed through her head. There was so much to do and so little time.

"We could use those enchanted coins we had during fifth year to communicate," Ron suggested.

"That's a great idea! They'll never expect a coin," Harry returned, becoming more excited.

They continued planning early into the morning, until every detail was decided.

Ron and Harry would leave that evening under the Invisibility Cloak and go to Lupin's house where they would explain everything once the Order was assembled. Hermione would remain at number 12 Grimmauld Place until the Death Eaters came for her. After putting up a fight, she would allow herself to be captured. Then, Hermione would prove she had deserted Ron and Harry and didn't know where they were. And after that, she would find out the location of where she was and tell it to the Order of the Phoenix by using the coin she was going to keep on a necklace that she wasn't to take off until she returned to Ron and Harry. She would then play it by ear until she was either discovered or the Order of the Phoenix attacked.

As she went to bed that morning, Hermione was confident that her plan would work flawlessly, and she was glad to help end the war.

Though when she opened her eyes late that afternoon, anxiety had replaced much of the confidence she had felt so early in the morning. She watched Ron and Harry pack up their few belongings and ask over and over "Are you sure you want to do this?" Their confidence was gone too.

She put a smile on her face and reassurance in her voice as she answered, "Of course I'm going through with this. We have a chance to end this war and save countless lives!" Yes, she kept telling herself, she could and would go through with the plan. She had to for the good of the people and the entire magical world.

Harry and Ron left soon after packing their things, taking with them the last ounce of assurance Hermione had.

She wept for some time after they left; filling the house with sobs that echoed throughout the empty rooms. She considered going after them and running wherever they were going.

She would probably never see them again. Why had she been so stupid as to think that she, Hermione Granger, could take on the mammoth task she had thought up less than a day before and succeed? She was going to have to lie to Voldemort's face, let him probe her mind and learn her deepest secrets and fears, and all the while making sure he didn't see huge trick she was trying to play on him. She should have just left with Harry and Ron and let the rest of the Order of the Phoenix deal with the Death Eaters. How could she have been so stupid?

When at last she regained composure, Hermione looked around the house one last time, saying goodbye to the house that had been her home for the last three months. When she reached her bedroom, she looked around trying to decide what would be useful to have in her pockets to make it look like she had deserted Ron and Harry.

She settled on just a few things, a book on useful defense spells, a change of clothes, a sleeping bag. She shrank the items down and shoved them in the pockets of her jeans along with a few galleons. Putting her wand in her pocket, she went down to the front room to light a fire.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she felt the presence of another individual watching her. Slowly pulling out her wand, Hermione took a deep breath and looked over the railing of the stairs. "Reveal yourself!" she yelled.

Someone moved from the shadows and into the dim light. "It is only I, Professor Remus Lupin. We first met on the train to Hogwarts and you had a time turner during your third year at Hogwarts."

Hermione hurried down the stairs and wrapped her arms around him, more out of sheer joy that it wasn't a Death Eater than actually seeing him. "Remus, what are you doing here?"

"I've come to ask you to stay, Hermione. Don't go through with this foolish idea of yours."

Hermione stepped back and narrowed her eyes at the professor. They didn't think she could do it! "Did Harry and Ron tell you to do this?"

"On the contrary, actually. They told me to stay away and let you do what you set out to do."

Hermione frowned. "Then why are you here?"

"To tell you to think about what you are going to do. This is not a situation to be taken lightly, Hermione. One wrong move, one slip of your tongue or even wrong thought in the presence of Voldemort will place you right at the end of his wand.

"I've seen people attempt this before, Hermione. Things will not work out as smoothly as you think they will; you have to take into account the intelligence of the other side."

"I have to _try_, Remus," Hermione replied tartly. "I can't just sit around and let them win."

"There is nothing I can say to stop you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, and I will try to get a location to the Order as soon as possible."

Lupin said nothing, only looked at her sadly.

After a moment of tense silence, Hermione said, "You should get going."

Remus sighed. "I wish you all the luck then, Hermione. Take care of yourself, and remember to guard your thoughts around Voldemort, he can get into your mind whenever he pleases."

"Thank you for your concern, Remus," Hermione replied, "and good luck to you too… take care of Harry and Ron for me?" She was surprised to feel fresh tears falling down her face, though she supposed it was appropriate. She'd probably never see him again.

"I will, I promise. Goodbye, Hermione," Lupin said sadly. Squeezing her shoulder gently, he turned away from her. She watched him walk into the kitchen, throw Floo powder into the fireplace, and disappear in a rush of green flames.

And just like that Hermione was alone again, waiting for the seconds to slip by, leading her closer to the stupidest decision she had made thus far in her life.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Well, there's chapter 1. Tell me what you think! What was your favorite part, what was confusing, suggestions on what to improve, things like that.

Thank you for the reviews: **Morvana Du'Miruvor, The Lime-Wielding Ninja, Lola P. Malfoy, Jaynie, whatifgirl, Irmorena**


	3. The Game We Play

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Harry Potter, I would have made sure the movie came out when they said it would come out.**

**Chapter 2: The Game We Play**

_What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of a man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear – in awful fear – and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of…_ - from Dracula by Bram Stoker

The minutes seemed to tick by with an ever increasing speed, and Hermione's heart rate seemed to increase tenfold with every passing second. She sat on the old couch staring at the flickering flames of the fire that was quickly dying, taking with it any trace of anyone having been in the house in the months prior.

After Lupin left, Hermione had burned the rest of her belongings and anything that might have made the Death Eaters suspect anything lest they go through the dilapidated old house after they took her away.

As she sat watching the flames turn the pages of her beloved books into blackened piles of ash, Hermione ran her plan through her head over and over again as to not forget any detail. It was roughly laid out, she had to admit, but it would have to make do, and she was good at thinking up things at the last minute and just needed to stay confident enough to be able to think on her toes and lie straight to Voldemort's face.

She knew for certain that he would use Legilimency on her, getting into her head and stealing her most precious and secret memories, and probably using them against her in some way. She would have to attempt to use Occlumency to block her mind from his powers, but she knew her mind was no match to Voldemort's. Even though she had found a book on it in the forbidden section of the library at Hogwarts and knew what she needed to do, she had never attempted to use it; she had had no need to.

She suddenly wished she would have practiced.

But it was too late for that. She would just have to hope she could shield her mind long enough to get a message to the Order.

Hermione got up and began to pace, counting the steps she took for something to take her mind off of everything. Five, six, seven… _Clear your mind…_ Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen… _Don't look in his eyes…_ Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…

A loud noise coming from the hallway made her freeze in her place. Quickly drawing her wand, Hermione inched her way towards the door. She paused when the noise came again, coupled with rough voices yelling and another saying to step aside.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she was sure that if she didn't get a hold of herself she would ruin everything. _Put up a fight, but not enough that you get away…_ Harry's voice said in her head.

Yes, she could do it. A few stunning spells, and a few more advanced spells to show she was serious, it wouldn't be difficult. Everything would go according to plan… It had to.

She felt a cool rush of air go across her face as the front door opened with a creek. The loud voices she had heard moments earlier were badly hushed, but knowing that there were other people in the house made it feel smaller than it already was.

Quietly as she could, Hermione rushed the rest of the way to the doorway, stealing a quick glance into the darkened hallway. Several large, black cloaked Death Eaters were coming towards her. Pressing herself to the wall, Hermione took a deep breath and counted to three before jumping into the hallway yelling, "Expelliarmus!"

The nearest figure's wand shot from his hand, sending him scrambling for it in a way that Hermione would have found humorous had it not been that she was completely terrified. In the blink of an eye spells were sent flying everywhere, ricocheting off the walls and portraits, knocking things off tables and hitting a few of the Death Eaters. All the while Mrs. Black's statue screamed bloody murder.

Hermione ran back into the room she had come from, taking refuge behind the mildew covered curtains. The Death Eaters in the hallway were in an uproar, forgetting to be stealthy in favor of yelling and running like lunatics into the room she was in.

She stole a look from behind the curtains, thankful that the fire had been reduced to a weak flame and that their wands did little to penetrate the darkness. She took their optical weakness and used it to her advantage, firing off three more whispered spells, taking down two more Death Eaters. They were yelling frantically, like Mrs. Black was in the hall.

When Mrs. Black went silent, the Death Eaters did as well, looking towards the door; waiting for something.

She did not see him until he was in the room, his followers bowing to him as he glided in.

An uneasy feeling swept over her as the Death Eater lowered his hood, revealing a pale, bald head. The others took that as a queue to do the same, and Hermione recognized many of the faces. Even in the low light, Hermione could see Voldemort's snake-like eyes taking in the contents of the room, his smug expression saying everything.

Hermione quickly ducked back behind the curtains, hoping he hadn't seen her.

She heard his light steps as he walked around the room, the curtains ugly hue brightening as he lit candles and set a roaring fire in the fireplace. All was silent for what seemed like an eternity. "So," Voldemort said finally, "this is the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. How fitting."

She peered around the curtain and watched him give a disgusted look in the direction of one of the Death Eaters; Lucius Malfoy. She would know that almost unnatural shade of blond hair anywhere. "Lucius, Sirius Black was your cousin, was he not?"

Lucius Malfoy's face went pale. "M-my wife's," he stuttered, looking to the floor in a most un-Malfoyish manner.

"Ah, I see," Voldemort replied languidly. "Would you do us the pleasure of taking the mudblood out from behind the curtain?"

Hermione froze. She watched as the elder Malfoy began to come at her, determination evident in his disheveled features, like it was of the utmost importance that he succeeded in getting her from behind the curtain. He reached out his hand to grab her. "Stupefy!" she shouted, sending Malfoy to the ground.

"Very good, Mudblood," Voldemort said. "Now, come out, I want to speak to you."

_Put up a fight…_ "Why?" she demanded.

"Because I asked nicely, Mudblood, and I won't allow you the honor again." His abnormal eyes watched her intensely.

Hermione waited a moment before walking from behind the curtain, focusing right above Voldemort's eyes. She walked slowly toward him. The Death Eaters encircled herself and Voldemort.

Voldemort gave what looked like a smile to Hermione before saying, "Are you alone here?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, looking at each face, committing them to memory, anything so she didn't have to look at Voldemort.

"Where are Harry Potter and the Weasley boy?"

"I have no idea," Hermione replied flatly, focusing on the fireplace, "I haven't seen them in weeks."

"Liar," he said softly, "I don't wish to hurt you. I ask once more, where is Harry Potter?"

"I already told you, I haven't seen them since I came here." She glanced at the wand in Voldemort's hand, shuddering inwardly. How many had been tortured and killed because of him? Would it be difficult to disarm him?

Her hand unconsciously tightened on her own wand as she saw Voldemort give another hideous smile. Chancing a glance at his face, Hermione resisted the urge to spit in it.

He was watching her in a way that reminded her of the time she had found her cat playing with a mouse. Letting the mouse believe it had the upper hand, Crookshanks had let it think it was going to succeed in getting away before it was drug back.

He was playing a game of cat and mouse with her, Hermione realized with a pang of fear. He was going to let her think she had the situation under control before he swooped in for the kill.

Oh, she knew she had gotten in too deep! She had let her mind and ego get the better of her and now she would have to pay the price for her stupidity. Well, she would fight to the death, if that was what it came to.

Drawing herself up straight, Hermione ran through a list of defensive spells in her head. Severely outnumbered in both bodies and power, she was going to need everything she had.

"Don't be difficult, Hermione Granger," Voldemort said, "I only want information, and I will get it, one way or another."

Hermione sighed, and pretended to deliberate telling the truth while contemplating which Death Eater looked the easiest to attack. The one to her right was rather short and slow moving, though his eyes didn't miss a thing. If she could get him, then the rest of her plan would fall into place perfectly. It had to.

Moving quickly, Hermione pointed her wand at the Death Eater and shouted a spell, sending him to the ground.

Everything that followed happened in a blur. Death Eaters rushed at her from all directions like vultures to carrion. Hermione sent jinxes and hexes in their direction and dodging theirs until one of them managed to grab her wand from her hand.

All the while Voldemort stood by and watched with that same sick look of pleasure on his face.

A massive Death Eater Hermione didn't recognize pushed her to the ground, causing her to hit her head hard, and pointed his wand at her heart. Hermione attempted to kick him but froze when four more wands joined the one. She swatted their wands away and sat up looking at the huge Death Eater maliciously.

Voldemort came closer, lifting his wand slightly. "Very good Mudblood. You are a strong witch. But why, may I ask, did you think you could possibly escape from me?"

Hermione looked to the floor and shrugged. She could feel blood running down her head making her hair stick to it. She felt the lump that was forming.

"I can fix your wounds, Hermione," Voldemort declared, practically purring her name, "just tell me where Harry Potter is."

Hermione looked straight into Voldemort's snake eyes and spat, "I don't _know_ where he is!"

He stared at her a long time, and Hermione could feel him trying to invade her mind. Breathing evenly, Hermione thought of nothing at all and watched as Voldemort's expression became livid.

"_Crucio!"_

Pain tore throughout Hermione's body making her fall to the floor again though she did not take notice of the pain it should have caused her. It felt as if someone was slowly peeling her skin off and scratching her eyes out while setting fire to her insides. Even her hair hurt. A scream escaped her lips, shouting to stop.

It stopped. Tears ran freely down her face, blurring Hermione's vision. The black clad figure of Voldemort loomed over her like a dark shadow, sending chills down her spine. He looked at her and said, "Tell me where Harry Potter is."

Hermione shut her eyes tightly and croaked, "No." She expected the pain to come once more or worse. But when it didn't, she opened her blurry eyes and saw the heel of a boot coming right for her face.

**XXXXX**

His world had become a desolate landscape full of anger and destruction. The happiness was gone. There was no more good. There was only evil and the pain it brought with it. And it was all Draco Malfoy's fault.

He had had his chance to help end the war. He had only one small task and he failed to complete it.

He had thought he had it in him to kill, after all, he had killed someone to get inducted to the Death Eaters. He had been confident with his powers, certain that he could fulfill his task within days of receiving it. Besides, he was the youngest member of Voldemort's inner circle, and that had to count for something.

He thought it would be a simple mission, a way to prove himself to the Dark Lord and bring his family prestige after the whole affair at the Ministry of Magic.

Draco's father had been ecstatic, but warned that it wouldn't be easy and failure would be disastrous.

How right he was.

When Draco failed to kill Professor Dumbledore, his whole family was punished for it. He had been forced to watch as his parents were tortured and had been tortured himself by Voldemort in front of all the Death Eaters to be made an example of. They had all stood by and watched, laughing as he was turned into a broken and bloody mess.

The punishment did not end there. The magnificent Malfoy Manor was turned into headquarters for Voldemort. Items that had been in the Malfoy family for centuries were destroyed for target practice, elegantly decorated rooms were smeared with the blood of the many witches and wizards that were tortured and killed.

Draco was put in charge of guarding the prisoners who had been held prisoner for the longest, as they were the ones who were least likely to escape. The job was one that only the lowest of the low were subjected to. It sickened him to see their gaunt faces and dead looking eyes watching him as he shoved food into the room and quickly shut the door again.

It was an easy job to do, but Draco treated it as if it was the most difficult on the face of the planet. He was determined to show that he too could do his part and show his loyalty to the Dark Lord. He would earn back his status and show that he was every bit as evil as he had claimed he was.

Until the day a prisoner escaped.

He had been throwing in some food to the prisoners like usual and when he went to shut the door a bony arm was suddenly thrust between the door and the wall. Draco had pulled on the door, trying to shut it, but the arm that was holding it open was surprisingly strong.

He pulled out his wand and was about to curse the person when another arm came around the door and yanked the door open. Draco was stunned and dropped his wand. He attempted to push the gaunt man back into the room, but he grabbed Draco's neck and began choking him.

Draco grabbed the man's wrists, trying to pull them off his neck, but the man only pushed harder. Struggling to breathe, Draco began choking his attacker in return.

As black spots began to appear in his eyes, Draco pushed as hard as he could on the man's throat. He made an odd gurgling noise and dropped his hands in order to try to pry Draco's hands from his neck. Draco took the opportunity to shove him back into the room and shut the door.

Picking up his wand, Draco locked the door and proceeded to lean on it, thankful that no one had escaped.

But he was wrong. He was called before Voldemort, expecting praise for not letting the prisoner escape, but he found a grim scene before him. The furniture of the room had been broken and lay in a huge pile in the corner. Two Death Eaters were holding back his father who was struggling violently against them. His mother stood silently beside his father, a blank look on her face and her sad eyes on Draco. Voldemort sat calmly in the only chair left, his snake Nagini coiled at his feet.

"Ah, Draco," he said, "how nice of you to grace us with your presence."

Draco looked from Voldemort to his parents and back again. "You asked to see me my lord?"

"I wish to clear something up, Draco. You have been given more opportunities to prove yourself to me than I would give any other. I gave you more rank than others twice your age, and gave you very simple missions. Why is it that you feel the incessant need to fail?"

Draco stared at the pale head of Voldemort. He didn't remember doing anything wrong. "My lord?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father's struggling increase.

"Twice I have given you a job to do. And twice you have failed. It seems as if you are developing a rather nasty habit that we need to break you of."

Draco felt a pang of anxiety. He must have done something monstrously wrong. But what was it?

"Do you not remember what you did? Let me refresh your memory," Voldemort said. "You were given a simple job. You only had to keep the prisoners in the holding room. And you _failed_."

Draco's heart rate increased. "My lord, there was a minor incident, but by no means did I let any prisoner escape."

Voldemort's expression became colder. "Then why, pray tell, did someone catch the old wand-maker running across the grounds towards the forest when you clearly had the prisoners locked up?"

Draco tried to remember the events of that day when he was nearly choked to death. There had been two of them. One had tried to kill him, but the other had remained in the room, right? He shook his head. No one would be stupid enough to remain when there was a chance for escape.

He had gotten away with failing the Dark Lord before, but he knew he wouldn't get away with it again. He fell to his knees and exclaimed, "My lord, I had no idea… I didn't mean for this to happen."

Voldemort rose from his seat, walking toward him slowly, pulling out his wand. "Of course not," he said softly, and then he laughed. "Do you really think I believe you?"

Draco bowed his head. Of course the Dark Lord wouldn't believe him. "You know what must happen, young Malfoy, don't you? We cannot let this deed go unpunished. You and your family must be broken of this terrible habit of failure."

Draco inwardly sighed, knowing the end of his life was seconds away. "Do what you must; I am at your mercy," he murmured.

He kept his head down and shut his eyes, expecting to feel an excruciating amount of pain that was to accompany his death. Instead, he heard his father yell _"No!"_ and his mother begin shrieking. In an instant he was on his feet and running towards his mother who had fallen to the floor writhing in pain.

The Dark Lord stood over her, a devilish smile on his lips. Draco reached them and was about to push the Dark Lord away when an arm went around his neck, sending him to the ground. He scrambled to his feet but it was as if an invisible force kept him from moving any closer to his mother. The Death Eater had set some sort of spell on him!

Anger rushed through him. "What are you doing?" he yelled over his mother's screams, "She didn't do anything wrong!"

Voldemort continued to torture Draco's mother for what seemed like hours while Draco struggled, trying to get free of the invisible wall that surrounded him. His father had managed to escape the men who had been holding him back and had tried to put himself between the Dark Lord and Narcissa, but a Death Eater stunned and then bound him with ropes that shot out from his wand.

Then it ended as quickly as it had all begun, and his mother lay on the floor motionless besides the barely visible rise and fall of her chest.

The Dark Lord turned slowly to face Draco, the same wicked smile on his face. "Did you really think I would let you get away so easily, Draco? Death is such a _convenient_ way of avoiding one's problems," he said softly, "and you have so much _potential_."

"Leave my mother out of this!" Draco screamed, "Punish me not her!"

"Oh but I am, Draco, I am giving you the best punishment of all. I am giving you a lifelong punishment today, one you will never forget." He paused, and looked down at Draco's mother. Tears were streaming from her eyes as she looked at Draco. "You see, your mother is paying for your actions. It is she who will die today, in your stead, for why would she want to live with the ruin her son has become?"

"No!" Draco yelled, "You cannot do this!" He struggled against whatever was holding him back with everything he had in him. His mother's screams began to fill the room again, Draco screaming right along with her for the Dark Lord to stop, he would do anything he wanted, just stop hurting his mother!

He felt his heart breaking as he realized that Voldemort was not going to stop; his mother was really going to die right in front of his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Why did he have to mess up? Why had he been so stupid and careless? He should have known better than to not do a search of the premises, but he had been too concerned with the fact that he had almost died to do what he knew in his mind was what he was supposed to be doing. And his mother would pay for what he had done wrong.

Voldemort's relentless torture continued, his mother shrieking all the louder. He chanced a look at his father. He was lying on the ground flopping like a fish, trying to get out of the ropes that restrained him, and had a look on his face that Draco had never seen before. It looked as if he should have been crying, though no tears were there.

And then Narcissa's screams began to fade. A wave of panic struck Draco as he struggled even more, a frustrated yell escaping him.

He could see that she was going unconscious. "Mother!" he yelled. She stopped screaming, her half lidded eyes watching him as she continued to convulse. "Mother!" he exclaimed again, "I'm so sorry! I never meant for this to happen."

She didn't answer him but merely watched him, her eyes glassy. A faint smile flashed across her face as a burst of green light sucked the life from her.

"_No!"_ Draco roared, "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!"

Voldemort merely laughed and walked from the room, his loyal Death Eaters following after.

He stood still for a moment until he realized the spell that had been holding him in place had been dropped as the Death Eaters had left the room. Numbly walking to his father, he bent down and loosened the ropes before turning to the lifeless body of his mother.

Everything felt like a horrible dream. Just minutes earlier his mother had been alive and well, he hadn't knowingly done anything wrong. His family had merely been stuck in a bad situation, one that they were planning on riding out until the war ended… And there she lay before him, a corpse, traces of her last smile still on her features. His mother, the one person in the world who he knew truly loved him, was dead.

His hand shook horribly as he closed her beautiful eyes; reached out to touch her warm arm. He stopped short; he couldn't bear it. She was dead. She would never see another day, never feel joy again.

It was his fault.

A tear fell from his eye, landing on her porcelain cheek. He gathered her body in his arms; rocking her back and forth as she had done to him when he was a child, afraid of some unseen monster. Whispered his apologies into her hair as he lost control of his emotions; looked towards his father with blurry eyes.

He sat surrounded by the ropes he had been bound in, his whole body trembling. His eyes stared unblinking at his wife, his face blank. Draco could no longer restrain himself when he saw a single tear make its way down Lucius Malfoy's hard face.

It was the first time he saw his father cry.

They were lost without her… She had always been the one that held their little family together. She always knew what to do.

She had wanted Draco to go live with her family in hiding when Voldemort had first expressed an interest in her son. Both Draco and Lucius had fiercely argued with her, ultimately ignoring her wants and allowing Draco become a Death Eater.

If only he would have listened to his mother. Things wouldn't have happened the way they did and she would still have been alive. As Draco turned back to his mother, he sobbed even harder. If he had listened to his mother, Dumbledore would still be alive, along with countless others, and the Dark Lord may have been defeated by now.

She had wanted Draco to be good. She had hated everything that Voldemort stood for. Draco remembered the way she had cried when the Dark Mark was put on his arm; she had not wanted him to be bad. Maybe she had known the whole time that nothing would go as Draco had hoped it would.

And as he sat there, holding his dead mother in his arms, he decided that he did not want to disappoint her again. He would amend his ways and in the process ruin everything that the man who murdered his mother had built up.

That day he sent his first note to the Order of the Phoenix.

Over the months that followed, Draco was a picture perfect Death Eater on the outside, earning back the Dark Lord's trust little by little, all the while sending information to the enemy. It infuriated Voldemort to know that Harry Potter and his friends kept slipping away from them, always one step ahead.

And though his hatred for Potter was great, Draco's hatred for Voldemort was greater, and he laughed inwardly when Voldemort's attempts at finding him were unsuccessful.

When a surprise attack was planned, Draco found out about it very late, and barely had time to send notice to the Order of the Phoenix. He was not surprised to see that Voldemort returned angrier than ever. He was surprised, however, to see that they did not come back empty-handed.

With them, being drug haphazardly by the arm, was none other than Hermione Granger.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Whew! That was a long one! Anyway, sorry about not updating in forever! I've been really busy.

Thanks for reviewing: **Jill-Bloom89, Darkness holds me tightly, OBLuvr13, Penguins and Potter, The Lime-Wielding Ninja, bittersweetazn, lrmorena **(sorry I spelled it wrong last time!),** rons-girlbloom, tcl7189, miishbabyboo**

As always, tell me what you think!


	4. Unexpected

**DISCLAIMER: I don't think the world would want me to own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 3: Unexpected**

_And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! _– William Shakespeare

Draco watched with mild fascination as the bruised and bloody body of Granger was drug across the white marble of the foyer, leaving a small line of blood in her wake. The only thing he could think of was what in the hell was she doing in his house, and where was the Boy who just wouldn't die and the Weasel? Maybe they deserted the Mudblood.

He smirked and walked slowly after the Death Eaters, following them through a long hallway and down into the cellar where they literally tossed her into a small room. Her limbs were at very odd angles, and he noticed that her right arm was bleeding profusely.

Not that he cared, though. He was worried about her dirty blood staining the floors of his ancient and noble home. He put a disgusted look on his face and looked towards the closest Death Eater, which happened to be his father. "What is that filth doing here?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"The Mudblood knows the whereabouts of Potter," Lucius spat, shutting the door and locking her in.

"So?" Draco asked, glancing at the heavy door where she was, "why doesn't the Dark Lord get in her head and take the information? It'd be a lot easier than bringing her all the way here."

Lucius sighed, seeming to get annoyed with Draco's question, and settled on ignoring him, which was not an uncommon occurrence. Turning, Lucius began to walk back towards the main level.

Draco sighed inwardly and followed his father back up the stairs, finding himself wondering why she hadn't paid any attention to his warning. Stupid Mudblood. He had clearly told them to leave, and there was no reason why they shouldn't have listened to him. He had never been wrong before.

And something didn't quite fit in this situation. Why would Granger have been by herself? Those friends of hers were all high and mighty when it came to sticking together, and he couldn't recall one time, in the entire time he had had the displeasure of knowing them, when they had been apart. They did everything together – it was pitiful.

Besides, Harry Potter always had to stick his nose in where it didn't belong, so how could he pass up an opportunity to see Voldemort face to face? Draco smirked. Potter was probably too scared to see Voldemort, so he had to send the one that followed him like a dog, and was just as loyal, in his stead. And that witch would do anything if she thought it was for the good of everything. It made Draco want to vomit. No one, he decided as he reached the top of the stairs, not even Hermione Granger, should be _that_ good.

Lucius motioned for Draco to follow him into his office. He obeyed and followed the man into the once magnificent room and sat in a beaten up chair. Everything in the room looked like it had come from the Weasely household, right down to the painting of an ancient member of the Malfoy family that hung over the fireplace that had a rip in it. It disgusted Draco to see his home in that condition.

Lucius sat down at his desk and put his elbows on it, a pensive look crossing his face. He watched Draco for some time, not saying anything. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?" Draco finally asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"A most surprising and rare opportunity has surfaced today, Draco…."

**XXXXX**

The first thing Hermione felt was a searing pain that traveled from her right temple all the way down to her jaw, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The coldness of the damp air around her made her shiver, sending pain throughout her whole body. Hermione groaned as she opened her eyes and saw that the room was completely black.

Sitting up was a bad idea. As soon as she was upright, her head started pounding and she broke out in a cold sweat. If she could have seen anything, she was sure that it would have been spinning.

She winced as she felt her cheek. It felt hot and puffy under her fingers, and as she felt the rest of her face, she decided her nose must have been broken. What had gone on while she had been unconscious? It felt as though she had been run over by a bus.

But more importantly, what was she still doing alive? She had thought she was going to be killed at Order headquarters, and it had certainly looked like Voldemort wanted to. She shuddered as she thought of the livid look on Voldemort's face as he attempted to search her mind.

She felt around, trying to figure out what was around her. All she could feel was the cool roughness of the floor underneath her, and the room was not very big. When she found the wall, she crawled closer and leaned against it, leaning her head back gingerly as to not hit her wound.

She needed to contact Harry and the rest of the Order to let them know what was going on, that for the time being she was alive and being held prisoner. She reached up to her neck to get the chain that held the enchanted coin they were to use for communication and froze.

It was gone.

She began to panic. What was she going to do _now_? Her only means of communication with the Order of the Phoenix was gone! Harry and Ron had no idea if she was dead, and she would not be able to get them any information! Everything she had just endured was useless. She would probably die in this place now, and Harry and Ron would never know!

Tears began falling from her eyes, stinging as they made their way down her bruised and battered face. She didn't want to think of what Harry would do when he never heard from her again. She had told him that she could do it, she could pull it off, and now Harry and Ron would think she was dead, and Harry would only blame himself for what she had done.

She had been stupid to think that she could pull it off in the first place. She pulled her knees to her chest, laid her head on her knees and cried, wishing that she was at home.

A loud noise forced her to open her eyes. Had she been sleeping? She must have, as she was lying on the cold floor again. A blinding shaft of light suddenly filtered into the room, making her head pound. She gasped and tried to move away from the opening door but her limbs had become stiff and she was unable to move quick enough, ending up getting hit roughly with it.

"Come along, Mudblood," a coarse voice taunted, "the Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Hermione squinted up at the man dressed in gray clothes that were very dirty. He smelled like dirt mixed with sweat, making Hermione feel nauseous, and his black hair was very greasy and unruly. She struggled as he reached down and grabbed her right arm roughly, gripping it hard. She suppressed a scream as he pulled her to her feet and began dragging her out of the room and towards a set of stairs.

"No!" she cried, pulling against the man.

"There is no need to be difficult, precious," he purred, tightening his grip on her arm painfully as he pulled her up the stairs. Hermione pulled against him as hard as she could as she stumbled up the stairs.

When they reached a long corridor, Hermione deliberately fell to the ground, making her captor stumble. "Stop it!" the greasy man said sharply, pulling her up and hitting her ribs hard enough that she thought she heard them crack.

Gasping, Hermione felt unwanted tears sting down her face as pain tore through her chest. She allowed herself to be pulled down the hallway and into a nearly bare room. There was a large chair near a fireplace, but that was it. The black drapes that hung from the window to her right had large holes in them, making patches of light throughout the room that was otherwise dark.

The man who had dragged her from her dark prison let go of her arm and pushed her away from him like she had a contagious disease, causing her to stumble to the ground. She could see him out of the corner of her eye hovering, waiting for something.

"Thank you, Santiago," the voice of Voldemort said, "you can see to her when I'm done."

Hermione heard the click of the door shutting, leaving only herself and Voldemort in the room. He rose from the chair and looked toward Hermione. "I see you are being well taken care of, we wouldn't want our special guest to have anything but luxury." He smirked and sauntered to her, crouching in front of her.

Hermione focused on a patch of sunshine a few feet away, the feeling of fear momentarily overriding her pain. "I can fix your wounds," he said softly, almost lovingly, "I only require one thing." Hermione focused on the patch of light, trying to ignore the man who was now assessing the cut on her right arm. "Tell me where your friends are, Hermione Granger, and I can make all your pain go away."

A picture of Harry dead at Voldemort's feet flashed through her head, making her shudder. She wouldn't allow that to happen "No," she said, "I don't know where they are."

Voldemort chuckled. "That can be arranged. Do you want to die, Hermione? Do you want to leave your friends to fend for themselves without you, to deal with this conflict without your help?"

"Ron and Harry are smart, they would figure something out," Hermione spat, "they don't need me to survive."

"Ah, but how can you be so sure? Has there ever been a time when you haven't been there helping them along? Isn't it always you they run to when they have a problem they can't figure out?" It was true, she decided, that they did rely on her a lot, expecting her to help them with homework and fix their problems. But she couldn't remember once in the past three months where they had asked her to do anything except to get the food when it was her turn to venture out of their hiding place.

Hermione looked at Voldemort. Apparently that had been what he was hoping for, because she instantly felt him probing her mind. Panicking, Hermione forced herself to clear her head and think of absolutely nothing. She could feel Voldemort trying very hard to search her thoughts and memories, and he was succeeding in forcing his way in little by little.

She looked away and concentrated on the patch of light again, trying to keep her mind clear as Voldemort tried without success to invade her mind. For what seemed like hours she sat there, intensely focused on the sunshine that came through the ripped curtains, hoping that Voldemort couldn't get anything from her.

Finally, Voldemort sighed and said, "Don't make this difficult, Mudblood, I will get what I want." He stood abruptly and opened the door with a flick of his wand and motioned for the man he called Santiago to enter the room. "Don't let her leave," he said walking through the door.

Hermione looked at Santiago and crossed her arms, wondering what exactly was going on.

**XXXXX**

Draco sat in his chair and tried not to think about anything. Just moments earlier, Voldemort had gathered them in the dining room, the only room that was still totally intact. He knew that the meeting would be about their new prisoner; it had been the only thing he had heard about since her arrival a few hours earlier.

He glanced towards his father, their brief conversation running through his head. "We can use this situation to our advantage, Draco," he had said, "use this opportunity to prove yourself." Draco had no idea how to go about proving himself when the witch was probably going to be dead before the day's end anyway.

And who did his father think he was supposed to prove himself to? Voldemort? He was certainly not going to willingly help Voldemort. Not after what he did to his mother. And besides, Voldemort would get what he wanted from her and kill her, simple as that. It was a pity that she hadn't listened to his note.

Voldemort entered the room then, and Draco could feel the anger radiating from him even though he was on the other side of the room. He sat in his chair at the head of the table and looked at all the Death Eaters. His huge snake slithered up and around the chair, resting its mammoth head on the armrest, and Voldemort began stroking it absentmindedly.

After a few moments, he spoke. "It has come to my attention," he mused, "that the mudblood Hermione Granger possesses both great intellectual and magical power. She would be a most admirable addition to my followers."

Shock and horror were the only words Draco could find to describe the change in the atmosphere of the room. Only it was much worse. Granger, a mudblood, turned Death Eater?! His enemy turned comrade? It was almost funny. Almost.

Draco looked to the others in the room. They were thinking the same thing.

"And not only will we gain a very powerful witch," he continued, "but the blow to Harry Potter and his precious Order of the Phoenix will be enough of a shock that after what follows, he will be begging me to kill him."

Now that was funny. The thought of Hermione Granger being bad made Draco want to laugh hysterically. It was just too hard to imagine Little Miss Goody Two-shoes knowingly hurting anyone, let alone her friends. It was like a fly killing an elephant; impossible.

"You don't believe it is possible, young Malfoy?" Voldemort asked.

Draco froze and looked toward Voldemort. "No, my lord," he replied, "I spent six years going to school with her and her friends, and there isn't a chance that she would willingly join us. She is the most scrupulous witch I have ever seen in my life."

Voldemort looked at Draco and smirked. "Well then, since you and the Mudblood are such good friends, you will assist me."

Snickers erupted around him. The way he said it made it seem as though Draco and Hermione had been best friends all through school. He wanted to yell that he could care less if the stupid witch was killed, that he would gladly do the honor himself, but instead he replied, "As you wish."

"Good," Voldemort said. He sat silent for a moment as the snickering died down.

"But my lord, do you think that it is wise to allow one from the other side to be one of us? What if the mudblood tries to give information to her precious friends?" questioned Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort turned to face Draco's aunt and smiled. "That is what Draco is for. It is his job to monitor everything she does, and he knows the consequences should he fail."

Draco glanced at his father, the image of his lifeless mother running though his head. He would not let that happen again, no matter what he had to do to avoid it.

Moments later, Voldemort dismissed everyone but Draco. "You will show the mudblood to a better room," he stated, "it will be easier to manipulate her if she feels secure and comfortable."

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied.

"You are to watch the mudblood; monitor her actions. Convince her that what the dark side offers is not bad."

"Yes, my lord." That will go over well, he thought to himself, having to spend his days babysitting his enemy; he would be lucky if he didn't end up strangling her before everything was said and done.

"That is all," Voldemort said.

Draco nodded and started for the door. "Oh, and Draco," he called, "do not fail. I will not be so forgiving this time." Draco nodded again and walked out the door.

Lucius was waiting for him, and lead Draco once again into his office. "Well?" he demanded as soon as the door shut.

Draco looked to his father. His eyes were hopeful. He was happy about the situation, Draco realized, and the realization disgusted him. After everything that Voldemort had done to their family, after everything he destroyed, he still wanted to be in the favor of him? He sighed and replied, "I am to watch her and convince her that Voldemort isn't as bad as he seems."

"Wonderful! Draco do you know what this means? We can once again become the Dark Lord's right hand, no one will be able to stop us!" Lucius was almost bursting with excitement.

"But how am I supposed to go about this?" Draco asked.

"Everyone can be persuaded to do things they don't want to do, Draco. It is just a matter of figuring out their weaknesses and using it to your advantage," Lucius explained.

Draco nodded, thinking that things just got a lot more complicated. How was he going to convince Hermione Granger that being evil was fun when he despised it so much?

**XXXXX**

A/N: Ooh! What's going to happen next?

Thanks for reviewing: **lrmorena, pussycat06, CoCoA-eyed-kitty118, lacking a better name, tcl7189, bittersweetazn, **and** The Lime-Wielding Ninja**

As always, tell me what you think!


	5. Death Eater Etiquette

**DISCLSIMER: With the state of the economy, do you really think that I could afford to own Harry Potter?**

**Chapter 4: Death Eater Etiquette **

_There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! _ - Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned

Hermione eyed the dirty man they called Santiago suspiciously as he took an inconspicuous step towards her. What was he playing at? If he thought he could take advantage of her current weak physical condition, he had another thing coming. Hermione Granger was not one to give in easily, especially when it was concerning an enemy.

She sat still as he inched closer, wondering if this was another of Voldemort's tactics to get information out of her. Really, she had thought that Voldemort would be cleverer than to try to get information from her by using a dirty man who strongly resembled a vagabond. She took a deep breath and winced as a sharp pain tore at her sides.

She had to figure out a way to escape. Santiago was getting closer by the second and Voldemort was sure to be coming back any second. There was no reason to be afraid, she reminded herself, she was a smart witch, and the man who was now only a short distance away from her seemed rather daft. There were few options to choose from.

She could try to attack him, though he was bigger and stronger than her. She could scream bloody murder, but that would probably only draw unwanted attention and more pain. Or maybe she could try to convince him that she could help him, that he could have a better life if he joined the right side.

She chose option three. "You don't have to do this," she said. Santiago gave her a look but continued towards her. "Help me get out of here," she continued, "and you and I can both go to the Order and you can be acquitted of all you have done. I will vouch for you."

Santiago was crouching next to her then, his putrid breath hot on her face. She looked at him. His brown eyes were full of some emotion she had never seen before from any person. "If I help you," he said roughly, "I want more than just your word that you'll stand up for me in court." He ran a dirty finger along her jaw."I want _you_," he whispered.

Hermione froze. There were two ways she could go about this. One, she could go against all her values and do what the man asked of her, escaping from the horrible place she was confined in, or two, refuse and be held prisoner, and surely be killed, causing nothing but pain for Harry and Ron. The choice was obvious.

She tried to look seductive as she smiled at him, saying, "I thought you'd never ask." Then she forced herself to kiss him, all the while trying not to gag.

"Merlin, Mudblood, you've outdone yourself. You're left alone for no more than an hour and you throw yourself at the squib. Then again, I suppose he is in your class, if not a little better than you." Draco Malfoy stood leaning against the doorway, absentmindedly examining his fingernails, looking arrogant as ever.

Santiago stood quickly and faced Draco, his hands balled into fists. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he growled.

Malfoy smirked. "I've come to collect the mudblood and take her to her room. Unlike you, I am not going to throw myself upon her; I don't know what diseases that vermin may have."

Hermione crossed her arms. There was no way in hell that she was going to go anywhere with Malfoy, especially unarmed as she was. And who did he think he was, talking about her as if she were a mangy dog, as if she wasn't even in the room?! "I didn't throw myself on her," she heard the course voice of Santiago spit.

Malfoy chuckled and ambled towards Hermione, his wand out. "Get out of my way, Squib, and I won't kill you."

Santiago looked regretfully at Hermione before glaring at Malfoy and stepping out of the way. "Don't worry, Squib, I'm not going to hurt your precious Mudblood." He reached for Hermione's arm but she jerked away.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, _Ferret_," Hermione spat, crossing her arms, "How can I be sure that you aren't going to kill me?"

"And how can you be sure that he won't do the same thing?" Malfoy hissed, gesturing to Santiago.

Hermione sighed loudly. Malfoy reached for her again. She jerked away again. He sighed and flicked his wand, and Hermione felt herself go completely stiff. Glaring at Malfoy, the only way she could show her displeasure, she felt herself be levitated and the slight rush of air told her that they were moving.

She kept glaring at Malfoy until he roughly put her down and lifted the spell. Hermione immediately jumped to her feet and tried to steal his wand, which he had pointed at her. "I don't think so," he said with amusement. "Honestly, Granger, one would think you cleverer than to get yourself caught."

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Malfoy spitting, "I suppose not." She glanced around the room. It was not the room she had been in. It was a rather large bedroom, and though their condition was poor, she could see that the furnishings were expensive. A large four poster bed was to her immediate left, along with a large window with a view of what looked like a garden and a very extensive lawn. A fireplace was to her right, along with a comfortable looking gray chair. There was a door beside the fireplace. "I thought I was a prisoner, not a guest," she commented, more to herself than Malfoy.

"You are," he said, rolling his eyes, "Consider this your cell." He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Hermione with more questions than ever.

Why, if she was a prisoner, would they put her in a nice room? And why did Malfoy show her to her room? What did he have to do with all this? Hermione had thought that their family had fallen from grace after his incident at Hogwarts, and therefore Voldemort surely wouldn't trust him with seeing to her, one third of the group he sought to destroy.

Her head was beginning to pound again, and she lay down on the bed. It was very comfortable, and her eyes began to drift shut.

**XXXXX**

Draco almost felt sorry for the witch as he locked her in her new room. For one, she looked worse than she usually did; a feat that was not easily accomplished in his opinion. Her unruly hair had been matted down with dry blood, and half of her face was barely human looking. Second, she had no idea what was in store for her. She would be manipulated into believing that those friends of hers were in fact the ones that were evil, and she herself would be molded into a Death Eater. It was for the latter that Draco felt sorry for her. Almost.

She was still a mudblood, and he was still Draco Malfoy. And he was still angry at the fact that he would be babysitting her for a while, when she was the one to be caught in the first place. Why should he have to be punished for something he didn't do? He decided he should have never opened his mouth in the first place.

It was so unfair. He had better things to do with his life. Like plot his mother's revenge. Little tidbits of information to the Order of the Phoenix was not good enough. He had to destroy Voldemort. He _wanted_ to kill him. But how could he do that when he had to make sure the frizzy haired Gryffindor didn't try and burn the house down?

He sighed and went to his room across the hall from where Granger would be residing. There was no use in standing outside her room all day and night. This way, he would be able to hear if she managed to escape, which he highly doubted.

He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to think about nothing. It was proving to be a difficult task. He couldn't get the thought of Granger in Death Eater robes from his mind. Could it really happen? Could she really become evil? It took a certain caliber of person to become a Death Eater, Draco knew. Many of his fellow Death Eaters were ex-murderers that had spent long years in Azkaban. He knew that to really, truly be evil meant that one had to be cruel, vindictive, and most of all, heartless.

Draco might have been cruel and vindictive, but he was not heartless. He did happen to have compassion, no matter how miniscule it happened to be. He didn't want to have to see Voldemort's scheme become reality.

And that's when it hit him.

He sat bolt upright, a smile forming on his lips. What if he could convince Granger to help him get revenge on Voldemort? What if he and she worked together to bring him down? It could work, and Draco was desperate. But would she agree? He didn't like her anymore than she liked him, but would she be willing to help him if they were working towards the same end?

There was only one way to find out.

Getting up, he made his way once again to Granger's door, drawing his wand, unlocking the door, and keeping his wand out in case an onslaught of objects were thrown at him, Draco opened the door. It was dead silent in the room, and upon making a sweep of the room panicked. There was no Granger to be seen.

Great, he thought, just great. He finally found the perfect opportunity to get revenge and the witch escaped. Now he would lose his life, all before he got a chance to kill his mother's murderer. Just peachy.

He heard the sound of someone taking a deep breath, and he looked in the direction of the bed. There she was, lying on her back, one arm above her head. Sleeping. He had no idea how someone could sleep in the middle of the day; he himself hadn't taken a nap since he was two years of age. He thought strongly about shaking the witch awake, but decided against it, as it would only make things worse.

Instead, he merely watched her for a time, marveling at how beaten she was and wondering how she was still alive; it looked like she had gotten some severe blows to the head. He found himself really feeling sorry for her, a thing he would never admit willingly. It looked like she was really hurt.

"Daisy!" he said quietly. An emaciated elf popped into the room and bowed to her master.

"What can Daisy do for Master Malfoy?" the elf squeaked.

Draco glanced again to Granger to make sure she was still asleep. Then he turned to the elf again and said, "See to it that the girl sleeping on this bed gets medical attention and new clothes; these are covered in blood." Daisy bowed. "And a meal," he added as an afterthought. The elf bowed again and disappeared.

Taking one last look at the sleeping form of Hermione Granger, Draco left the room, wandering aimlessly about the mammoth house, his newly formed plan running to his head. He just hoped that Granger would agree to it.

**XXXXX**

Someone was touching her. Poking and prodding was a more appropriate description. Hermione's eyelids felt extremely heavy as she opened them, and the room was a blur of color around her. As she attempted to sit up, a hand pushed her gently back down against the plush pillows. "Don't try to move, dear," came a woman's voice, "Just let me finish up here and you'll be good as new, though your arm may have a slight scar."

Hermione groaned and shut her eyes against the dizziness that had accompanied her attempt at sitting up. For a moment she thought she was back at Hogwarts and Ron and Harry would be coming to visit her at any moment, and that Madame Pomfrey was being her usual fretful self. But as she opened her eyes again and forced herself to focus on her surroundings, she remembered that she was nowhere near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that she was in fact being held against her will in an unknown location, at the mercy of Voldemort and his loyal followers.

Instantly she tried to pull away from the woman that was tending to her. The woman held her arm firmly and said with a chuckle, "Don't worry, dear, I'm not going to hurt you. I've been fixing the wounds of this family for nearly fifty years, and there hasn't been an injury I haven't been able to fix yet."

"Who are you? Who do you work for?" Hermione questioned. She was a short woman with white hair and kind eyes. She reminded Hermione of her grandmother.

"My name is Gretchen McDonald, dear, and I have worked for the Malfoy family since I was barely older than you." She smiled and patted Hermione's shoulder.

Malfoy? Hermione couldn't fathom the thought of being in the same house as Draco Malfoy. Surely they wouldn't allow that; they were too "high class" to allow someone like her in their ancient and noble home. "So this is their home?" she asked.

"The very one," Gretchen replied, putting some sort of paste on her right arm and then wrapping it. "There you are, dear, just rest for a bit now. I believe some food is on its way for you too." Smiling, she got up and walked out the door, shutting it gently. Hermione could have sworn that she saw a head of white blond hair standing outside the door looking in, but why would Draco Malfoy be looking in at her? Besides, in an instant, he was gone, making Hermione think it was just a figment of her imagination.

She lay back against the pillows and looked around again. So this was the infamous Malfoy Manor, the one she had heard was full of exquisite objects and the most expensive furnishings money could buy? It didn't look like anything special, if not a little run down. She supposed that it was probably because of the war. So many things changed and went unnoticed when one had to worry about their life.

Well, she thought, at least she knew where she was now. If only she had her necklace with the enchanted coin, she would have been able to get information to Harry and the rest of the Order, and they could have planned an attack on this decrepit home. Alas, she did not have the coin, or any other means of communication that she was aware of.

She was one sad mess of a witch.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Short, yes, I know. I'm having a slight writer's block at the moment. Anyway, now that I've graduated high school (FINALLY! Yay!) updates will hopefully be coming more regularly.

As always, thanks for reviewing: **OBLuvr13, lacking a better name, CheekySweetChic, dragonsgirl21, Harry-lover12189, lrmorena, and The Lime-Wielding Ninja**. They are greatly appreciated!

Leave a review! They are very helpful, and I like to know what you think!


	6. Confusion

**DISCLAIMER: I invited J.K. Rowling to my graduation party, but she didn't show because she knew that I only want Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 5: Confusion **

_Great grief is a divine and terrible radiance which transfigures the wretched. _– Victor Hugo

The tears seemed to flow very easily over the days following her arrival to the Malfoy home. As Hermione got better physically, she got worse mentally. She was alone, save for when Gretchen came to check on her wounds and pat her shoulder lovingly saying that things would get better, that within the week her bruises would be healed and she would be as good as new.

The old woman's tender care made Hermione cry all the more, because it made her want her mother. It was silly, she told herself, to want her mother. She was not a five year old; she was seventeen years old, a grown woman. She missed the soothing way she would talk to Hermione when she was ill or having difficulties, the way she would send encouraging letters to her when she was in school and feeling stressed about something or other.

But the people she missed the most were her friends. She would tell Gretchen about her friends while she was being tended to, about their interests, their likes and dislikes, how she spent many a summer with them at the Burrow learning how magical families lived, and of all the assorted trouble they got into in school.

And when Gretchen would leave her, Hermione would begin crying again, huge racking sobs that echoed throughout the large room and left her breathless and exhausted. She would fall into a fitful sleep and toss and turn about, dreaming of horrible things happening to herself and her friends.

And then, the day after Gretchen had pronounced her healthy as a horse, she woke up from one of her nightmares to find another one entirely. Draco Malfoy stood before her, his wand outstretched, glaring daggers, as if it was wrong for her to sleep. Well what else was there to do? One could only stare out the window for so long.

"Time to get up, Sleeping Ugly," he sneered, "there are things to do."

Hermione glared at Malfoy but got out of the bed, as he had a wand and she didn't. "Where are we going?" she asked icily.

"That is for me to know and you to find out." He motioned to the foot of the bed. There was a pile of clothes there, and she supposed he meant for her to put them on.

Hermione took her time walking to the clothes and picking them up before starting towards the bathroom she had discovered behind the other door in the room in her first desperate attempt to escape. She had found the window securely locked with magic as well as the door that lead out into the house. "And take a shower," he spat as she opened the door to the bathroom, "I don't want your filthy mudblood germs all over my home."

"Fine," she hissed, slamming the door.

**XXXXX**

Granger looked disgusting. Her face was a purplish green color from where the bruises had been, and her hair was still matted down with that dirty blood of hers, though she looked much improved from the first day she arrived at Draco's family home one week earlier.

He knew that she was hurting, and not necessarily physically. He could hear her crying in the middle of the night, huge miserable sobs that made him want to plug his ears and squeeze his eyes shut as he did when he was a young boy and heard the crying of his mother when he was punished by Lucius. Of course, Granger was crying for a different reason entirely, but nevertheless he couldn't help but feel a little compassion for the girl.

He knew that she missed her friends terribly; Gretchen had told him that. She said that she would prattle on while she took care of her, going on about her days at Hogwarts and the Burrow with the Weasels, about how selfless they were, and how she wanted only to let them know that she was alive and not being harmed.

Draco wanted to help her, but part of him couldn't bring himself to do it. Whether it was the old school rivalry or not, he didn't know, but there was just something about her that made him want to revert back to calling her names and pulling her hair, even though he knew that it was childish and rude. And he didn't like her by any means – he didn't know how anyone could with that bossy nature of hers – but he did want to help her and wanted her help in return.

Summoning his house elf, Daisy, Draco said, "Get me some paper and a quill, and be quick about it." He heard the shower turn on. Hopefully Granger took long showers, as he didn't want to be caught red-handed.

The elf returned moments later with a piece of parchment and a quill, as he requested. Taking them, he instructed the elf to leave him alone and sat down on the bed. _Hermione Granger is alive,_ he wrote, _do not try to find her. She will not be harmed._ Folding it up, he stuck it in his pocket and looked up to find Granger looking at him with a peculiar look on her face.

"What were you just writing?" she asked, crossing her arms. He saw that she had to roll the sleeves of her shirt up so they would fit.

"None of your business, Mudblood," he replied. Had she seen what he was writing and was trying to get it out of him?

"I think it is," she said nastily, "I saw you write my name."

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No!"

"Yes!

"No, you stupid mudblood, I did not write your name!" Draco yelled standing up and drawing his wand, pointing it at her.

Granger glared at him. "You don't scare me, Malfoy," she hissed, "And I know you're lying, I just can't figure out why."

Draco glared back at her. "It is none of your business. Now, we have things to do, so I suggest you head towards the door."

Hermione sighed and remained where she was.

"Now Mudblood!" he bellowed, grabbing her arm, forcibly turning her and pushing her towards the door. She began struggling against him, but he tightened his grip and pulled her through the hall, down the grand staircase and to the door leading into the room he had taken her from that first day.

**XXXXX**

Malfoy had stopped in front of the very doors Santiago had taken her to a week before, and Hermione found herself wondering what exactly was going to happen. She had thought she was going to _die_ the last time she was in there and she had done things that she wasn't proud of out of desperation.

She knew she couldn't expect the welcome wagon to be waiting for her on the other side of those doors; she could very well find herself at the end of someone's wand. Malfoy had been rather rude and refused to answer her questions in her dilapidated bedroom.

"Granger!" she heard Malfoy hiss, "Have you heard a word I just said?" He took her by the shoulders and began shaking her rather violently.

"Stop!" Hermione cried.

"Did you hear me?!" he demanded, stopping shaking but keeping a painful grip on her shoulders.

"And why should I listen to a word you say, Malfoy? You kept me locked in a room like… like an _animal_!" Hermione tried to pull out of his grasp but he only tightened his grip.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and spat, "I'll say this one more time, and once only. I suggest you be compliant to the Dark Lord, Granger; he knows magic you've never dreamed of. He can kill you before you even realize what is going on."

"What's this?" Hermione asked rudely, "Draco Malfoy is trying to help the mudblood?"

He glared at her. "More like saving myself. You aren't the only one whose life is at risk in this situation."

How was he in any danger? He practically killed the headmaster of Hogwarts! Didn't that mean that he had some standing with Voldemort? Why else would it seem like he was the one looking after her? It wasn't as if she was going to try and kill Voldemort.

Malfoy's pushing her roughly into the room made her snap out of her thoughts. It was the same room, except the ripped curtains had been opened, letting in the daylight. She felt a vague sense of dread as she entered the room, and her worst fears were realized when she saw Lord Voldemort rise from that same high backed chair he had sat in when she was in there before.

She glanced nervously at Malfoy. He had his famous smirk in place, and for all outward appearances seemed indifferent to the situation, but as his steel gray eyes met hers for only an instant, she saw almost pleading in them.

Turning back, Hermione straightened her posture as Voldemort glided towards her. "Ah, Miss Granger," he said, "It's a pleasure to see you again. I trust your stay has been comfortable?"

Hermione gave a curt nod, keeping her eyes averted from the snake-like man beside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy standing silently, his eyes missing nothing. "Excellent," Voldemort expressed.

"What do you want from me?" Hermione demanded, "Why haven't you just gotten the information I know you want and kill me?"

Voldemort lifted her right arm and inspected where the deep cut had been. All that was left was a faint scab. "I see you are healing well," he commented.

Hermione jerked her arm back and hissed, "You haven't answered my question. What do you want from me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, beginning to circle around her. "With you here, Potter is bound to come looking when he realizes your little plot didn't work out." Hermione whirled around to face the snake man. How did he know? She thought she had shielded her mind from him… hadn't she?

Voldemort chuckled. "But Miss Granger, didn't you realize that you would be searched before entering this house? Did you really think that something as trivial as an enchanted coin would escape my notice?"

Hermione's had went involuntarily to her neck, where the coin had been. How could she have been so stupid!? She should have known that something like that would happen. What was she going to do now?

"You will do as I say," Voldemort said, holding out the chain to her. "You will message your friends and tell them that you are alright, but that you have decided to desert your mission; you are sick of everything. Do be sure to tell them not to come looking for you." He smiled evilly. "If you do not do as I say, they will be killed."

"If you can find them," Hermione spat as he threw the necklace at her feet. She looked at the coin for a moment. What if it was a trick? What if they could track where the message went and… and kill her friends? What if they killed her? It would be better for them to kill her than for Ron and Harry to have to die. "I won't do it," she said crossing her arms, "You'll just have to kill me."

"Do you really think that wise, Mudblood?" Voldemort sneered, reaching for his wand.

She could see the anger on Malfoy's face. His earlier words filled her head for an instant, and she realized that if she didn't do as she was told, Malfoy would surely die too. Why, she had no idea, but that he would be killed was clear.

"Fine," she huffed, picking up the coin and sending the message.

_I'm alive. Don't worry about me. Don't try to find me. I'm sick of doing everything, I'm going to a place far beyond all the fighting. This is the last you will hear from me. Love, Hermione._

When she finished, she threw the coin back at Voldemort, who stopped it with a flick of his wrist. "Now," he said, amused, "to answer your question. I want to use your knowledge to benefit myself."

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned suspiciously.

"Have you ever realized, Mudblood, that there is another side of magic? That there are things – wonderful things – that only I can teach you, that you haven't imagined in your wildest dreams?"

Hermione frowned. What in God's name was he talking about?

"I will teach you everything I know," Voldemort continued, "and you will become a Death Eater, or your friends will die."

"No!" Hermione yelled into the stark room. Her voice echoed through the empty space. "I will _never_ do this! You can't make me!"

"Oh but I can… and I will. If you ever want to see your friends again, you will do as I say."

Hermione felt like crying. Why did this have to happen to her? Why couldn't she just go about living a normal life? Why did she insist on getting involved with everything? She should have run with Harry and Ron when she had the chance. She had only made matters worse by trying to be brave and end the war. She shook her head no as tears filled her eyes.

"Then you will never see your friends again," Voldemort replied, turning on his heel and leaving the room as Hermione fell to the floor and wept, not caring that Malfoy would see her cry.

She didn't see him come over beside her until he was on the floor next to her saying, "Stop crying Granger, there is something I need to talk to you about."

Hermione looked up through blurry eyes and saw Malfoy smirking at her. What _now_?

**XXXXX**

A/N: Once again, sorry for the short chapter! My writer's block is still going strong. :(

Thanks so much for all the reviews! **Lauredilian, dragonsgirl21, lacking a better name, skate-is-fate-4ever, OBLuvr13, Harry-lover12189, chancewriter, and Griffindor'sSlytherinPrincess **(x2)

As always, please leave a review! There may be a present in it for you. :P


	7. A Rickety Truce

**DISCLAIMER: No matter how much I wish and hope, Harry Potter is not mine.**

**Chapter 6: A Rickety Truce**

_If you hate a person, you hate something that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us._ – Herman Hesse

"What Malfoy?" Hermione choked out, "Want to joke about the poor mudblood's misfortune?"

Malfoy gave her a look before saying, "Look, I know you wouldn't willingly be brought here – no one would – I know there's something more to this."

"And why do you think I'd want to tell you anything? You'd probably turn right around and tell that bastard father of yours!" she exclaimed, wiping her eyes.

"Because," he hissed, "I want to see Voldemort dead as much as you do. Did you really think that you are the only one with a grudge?"

Hermione looked at her hands as she said, "Well no, but…."

"But what, Granger?" Malfoy demanded, "Did you think that because I am a Death Eater that I want to be bad?"

Hermione merely sniffled. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She didn't care what he had to say. She was never going to see her friends again, because she was never going to make it out of the house alive. But, she decided, she would rather die than become a Death Eater.

She had never really thought that she would have to put her plan into action. She had thought that she would get to Voldemort's hideout and find the location and be back in the safety of the Order of the Phoenix in a matter of hours. She had never considered the fact that the other side would have their own plans.

Hermione looked at Malfoy. He was still watching her, and she saw that he was holding out a handkerchief. Taking it and wiping her eyes, Hermione mumbled, "Thanks." They sat silent for a moment before Hermione blurted out what she had only been thinking. "Name one thing that you've done that was good."

"Shut it, Granger," Malfoy snapped, "I've done more to help your side than a lot of people. Don't you dare try to tell me I've done _nothing_."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why are you even telling me any of this? I couldn't care less about your measly attempts at 'helping my side.' I don't want to hear it."

"Well you should," Malfoy said, "If you ever want to see the filth you call your friends again."

"Excuse me?"

Malfoy smirked. "You heard me. There is a way we can both get what we want. You will see your friends and I will have the pleasure of seeing Voldemort dead before my feet."

"And how are 'we' to go about that?" Hermione asked sarcastically, "Work together?" She felt her mouth drop open as Malfoy nodded gravely. "You can't be serious."

Malfoy nodded again. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but frankly, I don't see any other option at the moment."

Hermione crossed her arms. "And if I refuse?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You heard what Voldemort said."

Hermione sighed and looked away. Yes, she had heard what Voldemort said. She would become a Death Eater or Harry and Ron would die. The choice she had to make was obvious, really, but she couldn't bear to think of working with the person, who in her opinion represented everything she stood against. But then, she didn't want her friends to die.

"Tell me this plan of yours and I will consider it," Hermione said finally.

"You will need to become a Death Eater," Malfoy said flatly.

"What?!" Hermione hissed, "No way!"

"Shut your filthy trap and let me explain!" Malfoy exclaimed, effectively stunning Hermione into silence. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "You'll have to become a Death Eater in order to gain Voldemort's trust. Then, when the right time comes, we will revolt and kill him."

"We?" Hermione asked incredulously, "From what you just said, it seems like I'll be doing all the dirty work and you will only miraculously appear when it comes time to kill him." She crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.

"I'll be helping you become a Death Eater. It's not as easy as it looks." Hermione didn't miss the smug expression on his face.

She snorted. "Yes, because it is so hard to be cruel and vindictive. Besides, you're being rather vague about all this. How do I know that you aren't using me for your own sick form of entertainment?"

"Honestly, Granger," Malfoy sighed, "If I really wanted to have a laugh, I would get that bloody squib back in here so you two could finish what I so rudely interrupted." He smirked broadly and began examining his fingernails.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. She involuntarily shuddered at the thought of that man's hands on her body. She looked to the floor and contemplated Malfoy's unusual request. It must be really important she decided, for him to come to her for help. Why couldn't he just go to his precious daddy and get his help? Unless... no, Hermione decided, there wasn't anything that the Malfoy family couldn't do with the right amount of money and intimidation.

But then again, the person their conversation was referring to wasn't intimidated by the Malfoy family. It was the other way around. Hermione sighed. Even if she did agree to help Malfoy, their mission would not be easy by any means.

"So?" Malfoy snapped suddenly, as if he could read her thoughts, "Are you going to help me or not?"

Hermione looked at the blond haired man next to her and said, "I don't know…."

Malfoy threw his hands up in the air and let out an exasperated sigh. "What is there to think about, Granger? You either are or are not going to help me, and I need to know now. Don't you want this war to be over? Don't you want to see your friends again?"

"Well yes, but… but there has to be a better way!" She looked down as her eyes filled with unwanted tears.

"Listen, Granger, I have come up with more ways to get rid of Voldemort than I can think of. None of them work. It isn't possible to accomplish this singlehandedly. I know you don't want to, and I don't want to either, but we need to work together. It is the only way to kill him."

Though she hated to admit it, Hermione knew he was right. She had also plotted ways to kill Voldemort, to help Harry of course, and none of them involved working alone. Besides, it was hard enough to plot against Voldemort when she was in the safety of the Order of the Phoenix, let alone when right under the nose of the evilest wizard to ever live.

She didn't want to do it. Plain and simple. She didn't want to be a Death Eater, even if it was just faking it. The idea of going undercover sounded good in her mind when she had been in the safety of Sirius Black's family home; but now, when she was faced with the very real prospect of faking in front of a very dangerous wizard, Hermione didn't know if she was strong enough.

What if she was sucked into the Death Eater's circle for real? What if she became one of them? But she wanted to go home. She missed her family and friends. She had to do whatever it took to get back to them and keep them alive.

"Alright," Hermione said finally, "I will help you. But you need to promise me one thing first."

"What is it?" Malfoy exclaimed, irritated.

"You need to promise that you won't allow me to _really_ become a Death Eater. That I won't be like…" She clamped her mouth shut tight. She had almost allowed herself to say 'that I won't be like you' and she knew that that would be disastrous. "That I won't become evil," she said quickly.

What seemed to be a chuckle escaped Malfoy's mouth. "Evil," he said, amused, "Like me, right? Cold, heartless, devoid of emotion. I can't promise you anything Granger; you need to settle that matter yourself."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy crossed his arms. "The way I see it, you have two choices. The first is quite obvious; you would become evil, like one of us, lose your sense of self and become one of the mindless drones that do whatever they are told. Or you can decide that while you are part of this mess, you will not do as the others do; you'll become a Death Eater, yes, but you will still have a conscience and the ability to know right from wrong and be able to do something about it. It is a matter of will."

"But becoming a Death Eater will brand me as evil even if it _is_ just an act!"

Malfoy sighed. "And what is evil really, Granger? Is it hating people because they have different beliefs than you, because they aren't afraid to step on a few toes in order to reach the top? What people consider to be evil are the people who are different than them. It is an act of loathing Granger, evil is nothing more than a word to describe a great dislike for people who, in a sense, are just like you. They have the same desires – power, recognition, advancement – as you, they have the same feelings as you, they care about their family and friends as you care for yours. Are we all so different? Or are we all just working towards the same goal from opposite ends?" He was visibly angry, and he got up and began pacing.

Hermione watched him for a moment before exclaiming, "Yes, but the difference between you and me is that what I stand for doesn't involve killing innocent people, killing whole families."

Malfoy stopped and glared at her, making Hermione wish she hadn't said anything. "Killing families?! What do you think you're doing? Killing orphans? No Granger, you and your friends are ruining as many families as you think you're saving. Or is it that you think that we just don't care when parents and siblings are taken away from us?"

"I never said that!" Hermione yelled, getting to her feet as well.

"That's what you implied!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"Look, do you want me to help you or not?" Hermione snapped.

"You know the answer to that," he hissed.

"Well alright, then. We can talk about this when you've calmed down. I'd like to go back to my room now," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

Malfoy glared at her for what seemed like an hour before he snapped, "Fine. I'm sick of hearing your bloody mudblood voice anyway."

He roughly grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her through the vast house, not stopping until she was back in the room she had been confined to since her arrival. And as soon as she was clear of the door, Malfoy slammed it in her face and she could hear the clicking of locks and his muttered spells as he made sure the door was locked.

She leaned against the door and sank down until she was sitting. Somewhere nearby a door slammed, and Hermione found herself wondering, not for the first time, whether she was making the right decision.

**XXXXX**

Draco ran a hand roughly through his hair as he leaned against the frame of his door. Stupid mudblood. Why did she have to be so difficult? It was a very simple request, and if she knew what was good for her, she would have gone along with it right away; she wouldn't have had to think about all the possibilities with that godforsaken Gryffindor brain of hers, worrying about being evil.

He snorted and went the short distance to his bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Evil. What a load of dung. And she thought that he was the bad guy? Hell, he was trying to help her! If she was too thickheaded to see that, well, then Draco wasn't so sure he should help her. Let her see how far she got using her damn chivalry.

And who was she to think that she was better than him? Though his life wasn't spotless, Draco was by no means a bad person. In his mind, he had only done what was needed to survive. And if that meant that he had to worry about no one but himself, well then by God, he was going to be selfish. Granger would soon learn the benefits of caring for no one in particular except herself.

And then there was the matter of teaching her to become a Death Eater. What was he thinking, expecting her to play the part of an evildoer when she was so against anything that would bring harm to anything? He remembered the day they learned about the Unforgivable Curses in Defense Against the Dark Arts… she had looked like she was going to be sick. She would never be able to use them effectively.

"You sure have gotten yourself into a mess, Draco," he said out loud, running his hands over his face. It would take a lot of work and concessions between the two of them if they ever expected this plan to work. And even then it would take a great deal of skill and deception to pull it off, and he wasn't too sure that Granger could manage that. Yes, she was smart, but how would she act under pressure?

But then again, what did he care? She was just a stupid Mudblood. She was worse than even the house-elves. People like her didn't mean anything to people like him. If anything, she should be grateful that he, a pureblooded wizard, was helping her. If he hadn't been there when Voldemort decided he wanted Granger for his "special project", her mudblood body would be lying dead somewhere.

Not that he cared, though. He was fairly certain that the world could do without her intellectual abilities and more so her constant questions and nagging attitude. He certainly could.

Sighing, Draco closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind blank.

It proved to be a difficult task. Every time he managed to clear his head of his impending doom, another thought seemed to smack him in the face, reminding him that he had just made one of, if not the most, worst decisions of his life.

He had put his very life on the line when he asked Granger for assistance. And honestly, though he hated to admit it, he was almost scared of the consequences he would face if their little scheme was found out.

Almost.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Sorry to kind of cut it off, but it has been so long since I've updated and I feel just awful! To make up for it, if you leave a review, you will get a present!

Thanks for reviewing: **OBLuvr13, Harry-lover12189, Gryffindor'sSlytherinPrincess**


	8. Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

**DISCLAIMER: Stealing will get you sent to jail.**

**Chapter 7: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire**

_You must be willing to suffer, to be cruel, to be dishonest, to be unclean – anything, my dear, anything to kill…_ - Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

"I've changed my mind," Hermione uttered, looking at the floor separating Voldemort and herself. "I accept your offer. I will become a Death Eater, as you asked." She had practiced for hours in front of the mirror, trying to make it believable, but it seemed that no matter how much she said the words they didn't feel real. It was as if she was having an out-of-body experience, looking down from the ceiling at the good girl attempting to go bad. And the sight was pitiful, indeed.

And the fact that Malfoy had sworn that he would risk his life for her if she did the same for him didn't sit well with her. She didn't trust him, and she made sure he knew it every chance she got. Then again, she didn't have much choice in the matter. It was either give up all the information whilst she was tortured and killed, or agree to Malfoy's ridiculous plan and become a Death Eater, taking down Voldemort; and, to be honest, Hermione didn't want to do either but Malfoy's plan seemed like a better option.

And if Hermione went down, she was sure as hell going to take Malfoy with her. He wouldn't get away easily. Because after all, it was his idea.

"Good, Miss Granger, very good," Voldemort replied smugly. "You've made a wise decision today."

Hermione shrugged. She didn't think it was a good idea. She had had two days to think about her decision. Weighing the pros and cons had left a much longer cons list than she had anticipated. The only pros she had thought of were eradicating Voldemort, ending the war, and possibly learning something new. And though she hated to admit it, she was intrigued by Voldemort's offer… she had always wondered what kinds of dark magic there were… but she was afraid that if she allowed herself to learn these horrible things she would become one of them. That she would begin to like hurting others. That she would want to see Harry Potter ruined along with everything he stood for. That she would never want to go back to the way things had been before she had gotten here.

"And you, Draco," Voldemort said, effectively snapping Hermione back to reality, "I must say that you have learned your lesson well."

Lesson? Hermione looked at Malfoy, trying to get an indication of what Voldemort was talking about. Malfoy's face had hardened, and by the dark quality his eyes had taken on, Hermione could only guess that it was something horrible. She made a mental note to broach the subject with care when she asked him about it later, when he was a little more calm. Besides, she figured she had a right to know why Malfoy hated Voldemort so much when his family had been rumored to be the most loyal of his subjects.

Returning her gaze to the bald man in front of her, she asked boldly, "When will I start my training?"

Voldemort grinned evilly and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. She resisted the urge to curse if off of herself. "Eager, are we?" he asked, amused. "Patience, Miss Granger, is a virtue you will do well to remember. Soon enough you will know more about the capabilities of magic than you could have ever dreamed of. Your learning commences today."

Hermione felt elated at the possibility of getting her wand back… then she could escape! She could get to the Order of the Phoenix, tell the location of the Death Eaters, and be free! The war could be over within a matter of days and she would be able to forget that any of this ever happened!

Voldemort, as if reading her mind, continued talking. "Of course, until you can prove to me that you are loyal, you will not be using your wand, unless under heavy surveillance to ensure that if you do attempt something that you will be stopped… immediately." A menacing look crossed his face as he said it. "I believe you can conclude how you will be stopped, Miss Granger?"

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded, her dream of freedom quickly dying. She clasped her hands and blinked rapidly to hide any indication that she was on the verge of tears. Stupid, stupid Hermione she thought, letting yourself cry over nothing! As she continued chastising herself, she reminded herself to not get her hopes up; this was not going to be a walk in the park. It would take extreme caution and strategizing, and a whole bunch of courage… but most importantly, she needed to remember who she was doing this for. Harry and the rest of the Order, along with the entirety of the wizarding world in a sense, all relied on her. She must not fail.

"Good," Voldemort said. "Now, let us begin. First, it is important for you to have mastered the art of wordless magic, as it is one of our most useful tactics – it not only allows you the element of surprise, but it doesn't allow for the proper blocking of the spell until it is too late. Have you ever preformed wordless magic?"

"Very little," Hermione replied as civilly as she could. "Only at school."

"Were you successful?"

"Most of the time." Hermione waited for Voldemort to reply, but when he didn't, she was unsure what she was supposed to do, so she added, "I – I found it difficult to concentrate on thinking the spell when other things were going on around me… I got distracted. I also found that it required a lot more effort than if I had said the spell out loud."

Voldemort nodded as if they were having a casual conversation. "Yes," he replied, "I myself had a bit of trouble with concentration. The key is to focus on your opponent; you need to forget about everything else but that one person and the spell you want to use. For example," he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy, looking at him intensely. Suddenly, Malfoy fell to the ground grunting, arms and legs flailing uncontrollably as if he was having a seizure.

"Oh my goodness!" Hermione exclaimed as Malfoy's mouth started to foam, "Stop! Please! You're hurting him."

Voldemort chuckled and with a flick of his wrist, Malfoy was still and it looked like he was unconscious. Hermione watched as a small line of foamy drool made its way down his cheek and onto the floor. What had she just gotten herself into? Would that be her in a matter of weeks or months? Used as a test subject to demonstrate things to a new student of the dark side? "Not to worry, Miss Granger, young Malfoy will be just fine. Now, do you think you can do that?"

Hermione glanced nervously at Malfoy one more time before nodding her head. "I think so."

"Good. When the time is right, you will be granted your wand to practice. But for now, we will focus on the logistics of magic. What do you know of dark magic?"

"I only know of the Unforgivable Curses."

"Ah, yes. Very important curses, the favorites of many here. But did you know, Miss Granger, that there are more than three spells that are considered 'unforgivable'?"

Obviously, she wanted to say. She knew that there were a number of horrible curses, after what had happened between Harry and Malfoy during sixth year in the bathroom. She remembered vividly the horrified expression on his face as he told them of the blood that spurted from the wounds caused by an invisible knife. There were others too, she knew, from her extensive reading in the restricted section of the library.

"I had an idea…" Hermione said quietly, looking toward the white blond haired boy who still lay on the floor with his eyes shut.

Voldemort nodded. "You will find, Miss Granger, that there are a wide variety of spells that will have almost the same effect on your opponent as the three main curses. I would like you to read up on these spells, if you would. I presume you enjoy reading?"

As if she had a choice in the matter. She would have to read whatever he wanted her to read even if she didn't know how. "Yes, I enjoy reading," Hermione replied as nicely as she could.

"Good. Young Mr. Malfoy will take you to the library and show you the books. I look forward to hearing about what you learned tomorrow." Voldemort smirked at her – a look Hermione didn't think she would ever get used to or be able to look at without shuddering – and turned towards where Malfoy still lay.

Pointing his bony hand at him, Voldemort seemed to perform magic without his wand, for instantly Malfoy was awake, rubbing his head and looking around the room. "Draco, please show Miss Granger to the library and help her find books concerning curses." Then, without another word, Voldemort turned on his heel and left the room in a swarm of billowing black robes, leaving Hermione alone with Malfoy, who looked like he had been hit by a car.

**XXXXX**

Bloody hell! He should have known that he was going to be used as the guinea pig. But damn! That bastard could've at least warned Draco that he was going to do something like that. Then again, when was Voldemort ever considerate of others? He was only concerned with getting what he wanted.

He was like a giant snakelike two year old who would throw a tantrum every time he didn't get what he wanted. It was pathetic.

Every bone and muscle in Draco's body ached. He wiped the foamy spittle off his chin and cheek, and began rubbing the back of his neck. It took a moment for him to remember that he was not alone in the room; that in fact the fur ball Hermione Granger was in the room with him, watching his every move with her hands clasped in front of her. Draco glared up at her, trying to hide his sudden embarrassment, and hissed, "Not a word, Granger. Not one word."

Granger raised her hands. "I wasn't going to… are you alright? What was that spell he used on you?"

Draco looked at the concern that was evident on her face. "I'm fine, Granger," he said, getting up and walking towards the door. He could feel her watching him as he limped away from her, wincing at every step his feet took. When he reached the large door that had been scarred with the multiple spells and curses that had been cast in the room, he turned to Granger. "Are you coming or not, Mudblood?"

Her face contorted from concern to fury. "Yes, I suppose I am," she said slowly, crossing her arms. "But I guess since I am the one who is going to be doing the majority of the work that I should decide when and if I want to go with you. And as I am helping you, I would appreciate it if you did not call me a 'mudblood'. My blood is the same color as yours."

Draco rolled his eyes. Stupid, stubborn mudblood. "Look, Granger, our blood may be the same color, but the difference between you and me is that my blood is pure. I come from a long line of prestigious witches and wizards that can be traced back a thousand years. You are simply an anomaly – like an experiment gone wrong. There is no reason why you should have magical abilities, and that makes me automatically better than you. The sooner you realize this, the better, because I will _always_ be better than you."

"How dare you?" she spat, coming towards him, "You think you're better than me?! You think that because your blood is 'pure' that it automatically makes you a better person? It's not what is in your blood that matters, Malfoy, it is what is in your heart. Actions prove who is better than other people, and that makes me better than you. What have you done to stop this war? Nothing. What have you done to help others? Nothing. You are nothing but a spoiled little rich brat, and I cannot stand the sight of you!"

By then, Granger was standing right in Draco's face, so close that he could see faint freckles on her cheeks. He glared down at her, thinking that he could lead her up to the tower and accidently push her off… blame it on the wind or something. "How dare I? How dare _you_, Granger. You think that just because my father is a Death Eater that I want to be one too? Do you think that I want Voldemort to win? I have risked my life in ways you don't even know to help your side, and you accuse me of doing nothing? I have gone against everything I was raised to believe in to help you. Don't you dare tell me that I've done _nothing_ you stupid, ignorant mudblood!"

A stinging pain filled his cheek when Grangers hand came in contact with it. The force of her slap made his head involuntarily turn to the side, and when he put his hand on his cheek, he could feel that it was already beginning to swell. "What the hell was that for?!" he shouted at Granger, who was now looking rather pleased with herself. The urge to hit her back was overwhelming. Maybe it would do her some good. But, despite everything, Draco considered himself a gentleman, and his mother had raised him to believe that hitting a woman – no matter who it was – was not the right thing to do.

And that meant Granger, even though he really didn't consider her to be a woman. The thought made him shudder. Instead, he drew his wand and pointed it at her; he may not be able to touch her, but he could still cast a few hexes to get his point across…

She looked at Draco with contempt, her arms crossed again. "If you call me a mudblood _ever_ again, I will do much worse than slap you. I have taken many defense classes, both Muggle and at Hogwarts, and I am not afraid of you Malfoy, or your wand."

Draco smirked. He had to admit that she was pretty good at making threats when she was the one that was unarmed with a wand pointed at her. "You should be afraid, Granger," he said in a low voice, "Now, are you coming or would you rather wait here for Voldemort to kill you for not listening?"

Granger sighed extremely loudly and seemed to think for a moment. "Let's go then," she said after what seemed to Draco like a century. "Teach me your ways all mighty pureblood master," she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm, adding a bow.

Draco rolled his eyes and waited for her to get past him before he jabbed his wand against her back and pushed her down the hallway. Stupid mudblood, thinking she was being clever. He'd show her who the boss of this scheme was. She would do well to remember that while she was smart, Draco was the one who had experience with dark forces.

Up one set of stairs and then another, then down a hallway full of antique paintings, Draco led Granger to a tall set of double doors. Behind them was the library, the place where he hid sometimes, when he didn't want to be bothered. It was one of the few rooms in good condition, and that was mainly because many of the books pertained to dark magic and were hard to acquire, and therefore very important.

He heard Granger gasp when he opened the door. Jabbing her in the back again, she went inside the room, holding one of her hands over her chest. "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" Draco smirked again as he locked the door behind them so Stupid wouldn't try to escape. Then he went to one of the large couches and flopped down, resting his arms behind his head and propping his feet on the arm of the couch. He looked around at the rows and rows of books the Malfoy family had been accumulating for centuries. It was quite a sight, he decided, the Malfoy library certainly matched, if not surpassed, the library at Hogwarts.

The library was a dimly lit place, its many candles and fireplaces giving the whole place the minimum amount of lighting required to see the words on the page. All the walls were covered with books, along with more rows of shelves filling the area that didn't contain the squishy dark couches and chairs, a few tables, and a game of chess. A set of stairs led to the second level, where there were shelves only on the walls, a balcony stretching all around so whoever was on the main floor could see who was hiding upstairs.

Draco watched as Granger lovingly touched the spines of the books as if they would break if she grabbed them like a normal human would. She looked around the room like she had never seen anything like it. Well, she probably hadn't… not everyone could afford the luxuries that being rich brought. He sighed. Merlin, but he enjoyed having money!

"Does this really all belong to your family?" Granger asked, her eyes still huge with what Draco could only discern as envy of the worst kind.

"Jealous are we?" he drawled, watching as she stiffened. Ah, sweet success. He was going to make sure he made Granger as uncomfortable as possible. Apparently it didn't take much to push her buttons.

Draco smirked as she turned towards him and snapped, "I was merely wondering why one family could possibly need all of these books, when you are all illiterate."

Draco forced the smirk to remain on his face and sat up. Well, he hadn't expected her to say that… stupid mudblood, she was probably just bursting with smugness right now, with that look on her face that was eerily similar to the one on his. "Illiterate, Granger? Well isn't that a large word for you. Careful now, your brain isn't used to working so hard to come up with something that big… do you need to lie down? Because you might when you hear this. You know how there was one person who received higher marks than you in Defense Against the Dark Arts last year?" He paused to let Granger soak in the realization. He almost smiled as he watched the horrified look come over her features. "That's right, Granger, I received higher marks than you!"

"If you did, Malfoy, it was only because Snape is your godfather! Your father probably blackmailed or bribed him to give you that grade! I on the other hand work for my marks and actually earn them!"

"Or maybe I'm just smarter than you," Draco said smugly. He noticed with delight that her jaw tightened and her left eyelid had begun twitching. She suddenly let out a scream and charged at him in a flurry of frizzy hair and purple robes that were too large for her. She hit Draco before he even knew what she was doing, and with a force that was surprising considering her small stature, sending him and the couch to the ground. Granger was sitting on top of him, looking immensely pleased with herself.

"What the _fuck_, Granger!" Draco yelled once he caught his breath. He managed to push her off of him and get off of the couch which had landed under him in a very uncomfortable way. "What was that for?"

Granger crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him. "I am smarter than you, Draco Malfoy. The only reason you receive good marks in any of your classes is because you are from a prestigious family. You haven't had to do anything in your life besides order about your servants. You are nothing but a pathetic excuse for a wizard. What would your mother think?"

Anger filled him like a fire; heating his insides and making him want to yell. He narrowed his eyes at her and balled his hands into fists, trying very hard to resist the urge to punch that ugly face of hers. "_What_ did you say?"

"You heard me."

"You'll regret ever saying that," Draco hissed in a low voice. Her voice echoed in his head, mingling with the image of his mother, the faint smile she had directed at him just before the life was sucked from her body. Draco blinked rapidly to hide any indication of tears and turned away from Granger, breathing deeply and taking a few steps towards the door. She would not get away with this. Talking about being a pathetic wizard was one thing – he could handle that – but talking about his mother as if she had known her. She didn't know the half of it.

And Draco wasn't willing to tell. "Malfoy?" he heard Granger say softly. He ignored her, running his hands over his face, trying to calm down. If he answered her now, he would probably hit her, and hitting wouldn't solve anything even if it did make him feel better. "Malfoy?" she asked again, a little louder. He heard her softly step towards him like any loud noise would cause him to snap. Like he was a wild animal.

"Malfoy," she said, and he could feel her close behind him. "Draco." The use of his first name made him turn and face Granger, all the anger he could muster in his gaze as he looked at her. "Draco," she said again, meeting his gaze boldly. "Draco, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I was just-"

Draco held up his hand. He didn't want to hear what she had to say. "Don't _ever_ call me Draco," he exclaimed loudly, "you stupid bloody mudblood!" He waited for her to say something, anything. The way she was looking at him was making him feel uncomfortable, as if she could see what was going on in his head. "Don't look at me like that!"

For what seemed like the millionth time that day, Granger once again shocked the hell out of Draco. She had wrapped her arms around his middle. "What are you doing? Get off me Granger!" He tried to pry himself away from her, but once again, her surprising strength shocked him, and he found himself stuck against his enemy, her frizzy hair threatening to strangle him lest he beside to breathe through his mouth.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Wow! That was a long one. I know there was a lot of violence and such that was probably uncharacteristic of the characters, but it has a lot to do with this story. I apologize for having not updated since October. I have to add another excuse to the list… I've been really busy with college (I didn't think it would be this intense), and have been taking a creative writing class so that has been taking up most of my time. I apologize once more, and I will try my hardest to get out the rest of the story (and yes I will finish it) as soon as possible. I hope you understand.

Thanks for the reviews: **SnowflakeGinny****, anneka, julialinaa, jaceni, The Lime-Wielding Ninja**

**Your presents will be arriving shortly. :) **

As always, tell me what you think. I appreciate the feedback.


	9. Hatred, Pure and Simple

**DISCLAIMER: My plant died. I am too emotionally distraught to own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 8: Hatred, Pure and Simple**

_Fear of loss is a path to the Dark Side._ - Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

Hermione could not believe herself. She was crying, and not the pretty crying either. She couldn't exactly explain why she was blubbering like an idiot, maybe it was because she didn't think she could take much more of anything, maybe it was because she was frustrated that Malfoy wouldn't listen to her and kept being an insufferable ass. Maybe on some level she felt bad for calling him a pathetic excuse of a wizard, but she highly doubted it because he deserved every single hateful thing that had come spewing from her mouth. Who cared if he hated her more? It wasn't as if they were anything that remotely resembled friends.

But then again, he was the closest thing that she had to a friend in this place, even if he was a complete dickhead. Maybe that's why she was crying… she had to stoop so low as to accept help from the one person she hated almost as much as Voldemort himself. And that was saying something.

Maybe she was crying because she wanted to go home. She missed her friends, she missed her family… she even missed her cat, though Crookshanks had become rather insolent with old age. How she loathed it in this prison!

Opening her eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut, Hermione remembered where she was, and who she was with. Gasping, she looked up and saw Malfoy glaring down at her, and quickly dropped her arms and took a few steps backwards. "Had enough of your cry fest, Granger?" Malfoy spat, taking his wand and pointing it at his shirt, where a vertical puddle had collected. "Merlin you disgust me," he added, looking at her with malice. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and threw it in her direction. "Clean your face."

Hermione wiped the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, neglecting to touch the white silken mass that had landed at her feet. She may be a wreck, but she was not about to accept help from Malfoy. Squaring her shoulders, she met his hateful gaze with one of her own. "Shouldn't you be teaching me dark magic, _Ferret_?"

If possible, Malfoy's eyes narrowed even more. He crossed his arms and exclaimed, "I should have just let them kill you!" He then turned and stalked off into the rows and rows of books and disappeared, leaving Hermione with her mouth gaping.

What in the world did he mean by that? Why would he intervene if they wanted to kill her? Hermione shook her head. No… she must have heard him wrong. Intervening would be too much of an un-Malfoyish thing for him to attempt. He was probably only doing it to make her feel bad anyway.

While she was waiting for Malfoy to make his inevitable return, Hermione righted the couch she had so carelessly knocked over when she tackled Malfoy and sat down. What on earth had she been thinking? Attacking someone once was bad enough, but twice in one day? What was happening to her? Maybe when she had first been taken they had hit her a little too hard in the head, she thought as she felt the thin line in her hair where there had been a cut. Or maybe they had been brainwashing her in her sleep… the possibilities were endless. Then again, there had always been a part of her – and she wasn't quite sure how large – that wanted to know what it would feel like to hurt Malfoy, and hurt him badly.

She had to admit that she had thoroughly enjoyed attacking him and hearing the thud that filled her ears as he had hit the floor. She giggled as she remembered the look on his face as he had fallen backwards. The eyes huge, his mouth gaping. It had been glorious.

She was still smiling as Malfoy returned with a large stack of books that looked to be over a hundred years old. Hermione felt her stomach do a flip as the smile faded from her lips, and she took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to learn how to be a Death Eater, starting now. No going back.

Hermione gasped as Malfoy carelessly tossed the books onto the couch beside her, as if the books were articles of clothing. How could he treat books that way? Even if they were horrible books, they hadn't done anything to Malfoy that would justify him treating them that way. It was despicable. Horrible, horrible boy.

She looked at the mass of books for a moment, before looking at Malfoy. He was still glaring down at her, his icy gaze burning holes in her head. Stupid, stubborn boy. "Well?" he spat.

"Well what?" she replied as civilly as she could. Did he expect her to read his mind? He couldn't just expect her to know what to do. Merlin but she hated him!

"What do you think, mudblood! Pick up a bloody book and read it!" Once again, before she could reply, Malfoy had stalked back into the rows of books. Hermione took a deep breath and picked up a large brown book entitled _The Art of Torture_ and opening it, hoping she could handle whatever was inside.

**XXXXX**

Draco Malfoy sat as far away from Granger as humanly possible without losing sight of the door (just in case she decided to make a run for it). He sat in a much worn chair that was the oldest, not to mention the most comfortable, chair in the entire library. It was in a dark and neglected corner of the room, and consequently all the things surrounding him were sprinkled with a healthy dose of dust. Not that he minded at all. The five year old in him liked to think that he was the only one who knew of the small haven, though he knew that at one point someone else had liked it just as much as him.

He absently ran his finger over the surface of the table beside him, watching as a dark line appeared like a small river through the dust. Frowning, he wiped his finger on his pants before crossing his arms and closing his eyes. Not too far away, he could hear his prisoner sniffling and reading softly out loud to herself. He could still hardly believe that she had agreed to become a Death Eater, even though he knew that she really didn't have a choice. He just couldn't understand _why_ she had chosen to.

It wasn't like her and her friends had gotten into a huge fight; Draco couldn't even remember a time where he hadn't seen the three of them together. It wasn't that she had wanted to give up; her stupid Gryffindor courage and determination wouldn't allow that. It wasn't like her friends had deserted her; she was clearly the brains of the operation. But then again, they would do something retarded like that.

Wait a second, he thought opening his eyes, why in the hell should he care about the reason Hermione Granger was at that moment sitting in _his_ library, reading _his_ books, learning how to be a Death Eater? Her stupid problems were of no concern to him. Besides, he wasn't too sure he wanted anything to do with this plan of his anymore… he wasn't sure how much self-control he had left, and when he snapped he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. And if Granger so much as mentioned the word mother he wasn't sure he wouldn't split her head open then and there.

Stupid mudblood, talking about his mother as if they had been best friends. She had no right to even think of his mother. She had been a thousand times the woman that Granger was. Draco's mother had put up with a lot in her lifetime, he knew. She had been forced to marry Lucius before she was even seventeen to join the last two remaining pureblood families and advance them to be the sole rulers of all wizarding society. He knew that his mother did not love Lucius – marriages between purebloods were never for something as petty as that – but for all intensive purposes she had faked it very well. He was also well aware that Lucius had had many mistresses, and very well aware that his mother knew and never said a word about what Lucius was doing.

From the time he could remember, Draco's mother had took care of him through everything. She refused to hire a nanny and instead raised Draco by herself. She had been both his mother and his father in a sense, as Lucius never seemed to want to have anything to do with him. She had saved him from his father's wrath on many occasions, but ultimately she had failed, though she never quit trying to raise him right.

He supposed she had failed at that too, raising him to be a good person. But that was his fault. He should have listened when she quietly asked him not to become his father, but he didn't. He had been too excited that Lucius was taking interest in him for once, not just looking at him like he was a nuisance – a necessity to ensure the survival of the family name.

Maybe if he knew then what he knew now, things would be different. Maybe he would still be in school, not in this hell hole that was his home. Maybe he wouldn't be assisting in making a Death Eater out of a person who had no right to be one. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Thinking about what could have been wouldn't change things now… he had made his bed, now he had to lie in it. Damn.

But that didn't mean that he had to be nice to Granger. So there.

Draco heard Granger gasp loudly, followed by an, "Oh my goodness!" He rolled his eyes at the mudblood's reaction to reading the books. If she didn't like what she was learning, she should have never agreed to help him. She should have known that it wasn't going to be pleasant. Stupid, stupid mudblood.

The more he thought about Granger, the angrier he became. Walking about his house as if she owned it, making snide comments about him and his family. Who was she to think that just because she didn't have the dark mark that she was better than everyone else? She had no idea how persuasive Voldemort could be… hell, if he really wanted to, Voldemort could get a saint to take an oath to him and get the dark mark! Granger had no idea what was in store for her, and that was what made him the angriest. How could she be so blind to not realize that this was not going to have a good outcome no matter how hard she tried? If she didn't see what she was dealing with, Granger would never last. Dumbass.

He heard her gasp again and decided to see just what she was so appalled about. Regretfully getting up from his little hiding place – didn't want to contaminate it by thinking about Granger – Draco sauntered through the library until he was in viewing distance of Granger. She was sitting in the same spot on the couch, one hand covering her mouth as her eyes moved rapidly over the words on the page and she kept shaking her head slightly, like she couldn't believe what she was reading. And was she _crying again_?

Draco coughed loudly. Granger jumped and wiped her eyes before looking in his direction. "What Malfoy? Can't you see I'm reading the books? I'm doing what is required of me." Then she focused her attention on the book again, though Draco noticed that her eyes were not moving.

"Merlin, Granger, you're crying again? Do you have any ability whatsoever to control your emotions?" Draco asked as he walked towards her.

"Shut it Malfoy! Unless you want me to throw this book at you!" She still had her head towards the book, but Draco was sure that he saw her chin quiver. She was probably just trying to get him to feel bad for her. Well, newsflash, it wasn't going to work. He ignored her threat and walked past her, sitting down at the chess table and beginning a game against himself. He saw from the corner of his eye Granger stealing a glance in his direction before continuing to read the book in her hand.

A tense silence filled the room for what seemed like an eternity as Draco tried to ignore the witch sitting near him, in what he considered to be his large and extremely necessary personal bubble that she seemed intent on popping. He made it a point to be loud with the chess pieces – a muggle antique his mother bought years earlier, claiming it was better than wizard's chess to play – in an effort to annoy Granger as much as she was him. If he was succeeding, and Draco strongly suspected he was, Granger gave no indication whatsoever. She kept her head down and let her hair fall like a curtain so he could see nothing of her reaction, which made Draco even more aggravated.

He held a tiny pawn in his hand, contemplating what she would do if he chucked it at her. It wouldn't do much harm since it was only about the size of his pinkie, but he was sure it would elicit a nice reaction from his hated companion. Then, just as if she could tell what he was thinking, Granger looked up and glared at Draco, saying calmly, "Do it. I dare you." She stared at him like a statue, unmoving, unblinking. A devilish smile formed on Draco's face as he lifted the pawn, brought back his hand and brought it forward, pretending to throw the object at her. He watched as Granger flinched, holding up the book as if to protect herself.

Chuckling, Draco turned his attention back to the chess board and set the pawn down, just in time for the book that Granger had been reading to hit him in the arm, hard. "Ouch! What was that for, Granger?" He exclaimed, rubbing his arm and looking at her.

She crossed her arms and replied, "You think that you can scare me into listening to you by physically and emotionally abusing me? You think that you can brainwash me, _me,_ Malfoy? You are sadly mistaken if you think that name calling and throwing things will defeat me. And if you want my help, you had better start treating me with more respect. Just because you are the only one with a wand right now does not give you the upper hand. I will be getting mine, and when I do, you'll be sorry."

It was almost hilarious; the way Granger was threatening him. Draco smirked as he said, "That is if you get your wand back, Granger. There are no guarantees in this place. Just because the Dark Lord wants you right now, doesn't mean he'll feel the same tomorrow. You'd be good to remember that."

"And if you're wrong?"

"The thing is, Granger, I'm not."

**XXXXX**

It had been a full three days since Harry Potter had gotten a wink of sleep, but he didn't feel tired in the least. In those three days, as well as all the other days that had passed since he or anyone else had heard from Hermione, he repeatedly read her last message sent by the enchanted coin and tired to figure out what had been going on in her head. He was just positive that she had been forced to send them that message, because why would she willingly desert himself and Ron? She was not the type of person to do that sort of thing.

Or was she?

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, sighing heavily. He knew it had been a bad idea to let Hermione go off by herself to try to do something that was so stupid and so dangerous that she could very well have gotten killed. And for all he knew, she was rotting in some shallow grave somewhere. The thought of that made him sick to his stomach.

Other members of the Order of the Phoenix had doubled up the efforts of finding the location of the Death Eater camps, convinced that the last known message from the mystery insider was true, that indeed Hermione was alive and not in danger. To Harry, it all seemed a little bit farfetched. Why, if he had her, would Voldemort keep her alive? Why wouldn't he kill her and then make Harry come after her like he knew he would? It was all too confusing to handle… not even Lupin or Moody could figure out what was going on.

And it was his fault.

He just hoped that Hermione was somewhere safe and far from danger because he could accept her deserting them, but he could not accept her being in danger.

"How's it going, Harry?" came the voice of Ron as he walked into the kitchen, where Harry had been sitting since breakfast, unable to move or think clearly. His orange haired friend had taken the news of Hermione's disappearance hard. He looked worse off than Harry did, and though he was able to sleep at night, he often woke up with nightmares concerning Hermione.

"Alright, I suppose," Harry said, "any news?"

Ron shook his head and sat down heavily in the chair across from Harry. Harry could plainly see that his best friend was in love with Hermione, and had been since he could remember, and for Ron's sake as much as his own, Harry hoped that Hermione would come back to them alive. "I miss her," Ron said sadly not meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry frowned, looking down at the table. "I know. Me too, mate, me too."

**XXXXX**

A/N: Well, there's chapter eight. I know the part with Harry and Ron is short (and kind of random) but they will be in the story again soon, and I didn't want them to be forgotten.

Thank you for reviewing: **SnowflakeGinny **I hope you enjoyed your present!

As always, review! They are helpful, and I like to know what you think.


	10. The Most Dangerous Game

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Harry Potter, I would probably pee my pants. But alas, my pants are dry.**

**Chapter 9: The Most Dangerous Game**

_The sound of a kiss is much softer than that of a cannon – but its echo lasts a great deal longer._ – Anonymous

Hermione Granger glared at the pile of books left on the floor for her to find when she woke up the next morning; there was something ominous about their presence in her prison that made her feel like she was going to go crazy. The dark colored books were like a scar on the décor of the room, and Hermione was sure that if she had to continue reading them they would put a dark scar on her soul.

But she wanted to know more about what was in the books, the spells and potions that would only hurt the ones they were directed at. They were exceedingly simple incantations and it surprised Hermione somewhat, considering the harm they could do. She had quickly found the spell Voldemort had used on Malfoy, a simple one worded curse that caused the victim to have seizures and was potentially fatal if used for too long. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. There were spells that caused bones to snap like twigs, ones that turned organs into mush, made one feel as if they were drowning. There were potions that would stop the heart, make appendages fall off, permanently paralyze, and close one's throat in less than ten seconds.

It scared her to know that she wanted to know more about dark magic. In the long hours that had passed in Malfoy's library in tense silence, she had become thoroughly engrossed in those books, learning the terrible yet wonderful things that magic could do. She was fascinated that someone had come up with these spells… what would possess anyone to want to do harm to others? Hermione had to admit that on occasion, she wanted to hurt some people, but never so much as to make them die or to perform magic that was so horrible it would earn a sentence in Azkaban.

She had looked up at Malfoy, who had still been playing Muggle chess of all things, wondering if he had ever performed any of the spells she was reading about. Had he made any of those potions to earn the Dark Mark that she could see on his left arm, partially hidden by his rolled up sleeves? She had shuddered as she looked at the mark, a chill coming over her body when she noticed that the black snake looked like it was wiggling. Then she glanced at her own arm, trying to imagine that same mark on her skin. Would she really have to get one? She knew that it was dark magic that could never be undone.

Malfoy must have noticed her eyes locked on the sizeable smear on his skin, for he immediately pulled down his sleeves and snapped, "Mind your business, _Mudblood_."

"I was merely wondering, _Ferret_," Hermione replied just as cruelly, "how you managed to get that _thing_ on your arm. Isn't it considered a mark of honor for doing something brave, like killing helpless people? Pray tell me how, when you couldn't even manage to kill the headmaster, did you get it? Money? Sexual favors for Volde-"

"Silencio!" The spell hit her like a brick. Her vocal cords were effectively cut off and she couldn't finish her insult, which she had to say was a very good one at that. Hermione could only cross her arms and glare at the bastard who had rendered her speechless. Malfoy, unaffected by what Hermione hoped to be a deathly glare, went back to his chess board. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but only a raspy sound came out, followed by a loud gush of air.

The raspy noise was rather annoying, so Hermione continued doing it for a few moments, making it obvious that she wasn't just trying to clear her throat. The corners of Malfoy's mouth twitched, but that was the sign of recognition she received from him. Smarmy bastard! Couldn't he see that it was worse than torture to not have her voice?

Obviously, he did. And he was quite enjoying her suffering as he sat by, perfectly able to speak, playing his game. A devious smirk made its way onto her face as she got up from her spot and walked to where the chess board was sitting. Malfoy looked up, appearing a bit startled at her suddenly being so close to him. Hermione smiled and gestured to her throat before moving her hand like a mouth.

Malfoy laughed – or what Hermione could only assume was one – out loud, exclaiming, "Not a chance, Granger!"

She expected that. Shrugging, Hermione gave him a look that she hoped conveyed a "you asked for it" attitude before moving her hands in a rapid motion over the board, effectively knocking all the pieces onto the floor.

It was almost a shame to ruin the game he was playing against himself, but not really. The hilarity of the look on Malfoy's face as it turned a girly pink color, his jaw tightening and teeth showing just a little, made Hermione burst out into a silent laugh, the croaky noise filling her ears as she tried to remain upright. The next instant her hysterical laughter filled the room; Malfoy must have reversed the spell he so sanguinely cast at her minutes earlier.

She was still laughing loudly as Malfoy lunged at her, causing her to screech and run away. Through the library she ran, cackling wildly, around bookcases and chairs and tables while Malfoy chased her, up the stairs and around the balcony with him on her heels. Taking the stairs back down two at a time, Hermione made for the door of the place, grabbing the knob and yanking on it. However, instead of it opening and allowing Hermione to escape, the door remained firmly closed, nearly yanking Hermione's arm off in the process. Swearing at the searing pain that suddenly filled her arm, Hermione clutched at her shoulder as she whirled on her foot, coming face to face with the Slytherin Prince himself.

"Thought you could get away with it, didn't you Mudblood?" he hissed, pushing Hermione rather violently against the door. His hands clutched at her upper arms in a way that she was sure would leave bruises, holding her in place even though she tried to wiggle her way away from him. She pushed her hands against his chest as hard as she could, but it was as useless as trying to push a brick wall out of the way. Malfoy seemed to effortlessly take hold of her wrists and pin those at her sides. Hermione struggled violently, though she knew her efforts were fruitless when Malfoy smashed her entire body against the door with his.

"Answer me!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the library.

Hermione involuntarily flinched against the volume of his words. "Yes," she said matter-of-factly, "And I would have too, had you not insisted on keeping me locked up like an animal."

"But you are an animal," Malfoy drawled, "and a rare one at that. You are an animal of the Mudblood variety that thinks it is a Pureblood. We have to keep you locked up for the safety of not only yourself, but the rest of society as well. Do you understand? No, of course you don't. Your brain is too muddled with that dirty blood of yours."

An animal? Wow, real original Malfoy. "Well I'd rather be a Mudblood and die a horrible death than be a self-centered ignoramus who thinks he is God's gift to the Earth because of his inbred bloodline!" Nice. Hermione was impressed with herself.

"I'll have you know, Granger, that my father and my mother are in no way related. Don't be jealous just because I deserve to have magical powers, unlike you."

Hermione snorted and glared up at him. "You don't deserve magic any more than a sock does! You got yours because your parents are magical. _I_ got _mine _because I'm _special._"

"Yea," Malfoy retorted, "special ed."

"If anyone is retarded, Malfoy, it is you. One would think you would've realized it by now; how many fingers and toes are you these days?"

"You're such a waste of magical power, Granger!"

"Yes, well you're a waste of manhood!"

"Take that back, _Mudblood_!"

"You take it back, _Ferret_!"

"No you stupid bitch!"

"Yes you man whore!"

Hermione and Malfoy glared at each other for an indeterminable amount of time, and then Malfoy said, "Well?"

"Well what?" Hermione snapped.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, one going higher than the other in a comical way. "Someone owes me an apology."

Hermione mimicked his facial movements. He would get an apology from her when bubble gum fell from the sky. "Come closer," she said quietly. A triumphant smirk plastered his face as he obliged. Once his ear was close to her mouth, Hermione whispered, "Kiss my ass, Draco Malfoy."

His head jerked back quickly and he looked very angry. Once again his face took on the pink color of a baby girls blanket and Hermione had to stifle a laugh. Now look who was speechless! She smiled.

Suddenly his mouth was very near to her own ear, his breathing hot against her ear and neck; making her want to shiver in a very unladylike way. She resisted the urge by biting the inside of her cheeks. "Bend over and I will," Malfoy whispered huskily, "I'll kiss any place you want."

Hermione froze, horrified, as Malfoy pulled away to look at her, smirking again. And then it was his turn to laugh like a madman at Hermione's expense.

Then she realized something. He was bluffing. Draco Malfoy thought he had the situation in his corner because he didn't think she knew he was lying right through his teeth. "Alright, then," she said in a voice much unlike her own, "kiss me."

Malfoy's laugh stopped abruptly and he looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "What did you say?" he half whispered, his grip tightening on her wrists in an almost painful way.

"You heard me," Hermione said. Then dropping her voice to a whisper, "Kiss me; that is, if you're man enough to do it."

No, he defiantly wouldn't kiss her, a Mudblood. There was no way… he wouldn't bring himself to that level. Although, she wondered if he knew that she was completely bluffing herself.

This was turning into a potentially bad situation.

Malfoy's eyes changed. She couldn't quite figure out why, but when she saw the corners of his mouth rise, she knew that he knew she was lying. "As you wish, madam," he murmured with a fake French accent.

He dropped her wrists in favor of her waist as suddenly his mouth was coming towards hers, and fast. Instinctively, Hermione shut her eyes in lieu of seeing Malfoy's face in such a close proximity. Hermione pushed her hands against his chest, trying to get the creep away from her.

When his lips first grazed hers, it hadn't been what she expected. Well hell, she didn't know what she expected. Cold, unfeeling, rough? She had never pictured herself kissing Malfoy of all people; it wasn't as if she went around all day wondering what it would be like to kiss the rudest boy she had ever known. Nevertheless, he surprised her with the gentleness of it, the warmth of his lips… like he was actually a human.

And God smite her down, she kissed him back. Of course it was only because she didn't want him to win she was sure. But… was that her she heard sigh when Malfoy put his tongue – his _tongue_ – in her mouth? Or whimper when he bit her bottom lip and sucked on it? Were those her fingers running through Malfoy's amazingly soft hair? Or even her mouth as she left love bites on his neck?

Maybe, but she didn't think so. It couldn't have because she would rather die, obviously.

As suddenly as Malfoy's assault began, it ended. He stepped away from her, wiping his mouth as if to rid it of her germs, and Hermione felt a peculiar sensation coarse through her veins. Was it disappointment? Anger? Desire? Relief, she finally decided, it was relief that he stopped trying to strangle her with his mouth; because for some reason she was panting like a… well, like an animal.

Though, she noted with a hint of smugness, Malfoy was panting too.

Soon after that, Malfoy had proclaimed that it was bedtime for the Mudblood – even though she knew it was still the morning – and poked that damned wand of his into her back once again, leading her to her room. Then he shut the door in her face without any more explanation.

And Hermione went to sleep, only to wake up to find those blasted books burning a dark hole into her vision.

**XXXXX**

A week had passed. One goddamned week in which Draco Malfoy nearly went crazy. Or maybe he was crazy. Hell, he didn't know anymore. One thing was for certain; he would defiantly have to have been off his rocker to place his mouth – or his body for that matter – anywhere near Granger. Just the thought made him vomit a little bit in his mouth.

But the evidence was staring him in the face. The purplish red marks on his neck stood out horribly as he looked at them in the mirror. They had faded only a little since Granger had so rudely given them to him, and the resulting looks from his comrades, and his own _father_ for crying out loud, made him sick to his stomach. He knew that they knew they were from Granger, because the only other woman in the house at the time was his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

He'd kill them all, the bastards.

He couldn't exactly pinpoint why he had actually kissed Granger when she dared him to. He knew she was bluffing because he had been too. He knew that she didn't want to kiss him anymore than he wanted to kiss her. And yet he did. And holy Merlin, he had gotten into it. Just thinking about the way her lips felt... ugh.

She was a Mudblood. She wasn't supposed to be good at anything, let alone kissing. But she was horrible. Yes, Granger was not good at anything, except for maybe being a slave or something. And kissing. Oh, holy Jesus, kill him now! He didn't know what he expected when he kissed her. Maybe that she would taste like dirt, which by all means she should have. Maybe that she would have pushed him away and slapped his face. Maybe that she would have bitten his tongue or something. Anything, anything to push him away from her luscious lips that tasted like cotton candy.

Dirt flavored cotton candy, he reminded himself. He licked his lips and could still taste it.

Shit.

He stared at his reflection for a few more moments, debating on whether to drown himself in the sink.

Maybe it was because she was such a bitch and needed to be knocked off her high horse. She was not the only one in this hell; she was not the only one that was going through these tribulations. She was not immune to the things that could happen lest she let her guard down in front of the wrong person.

Yes. That was it. He was teaching her a lesson.

End of story.

But that didn't explain why he was avoiding her like the plague. Every single night he crept into her room with another pile of books about dark magic, making the pile on the floor beside her bed even larger – and knocking a few off the neat stacks for good measure – before creeping out again.

That way, he could still do his job of both teaching Granger to become a Death Eater all while helping her learn how to undermine Voldemort so they could kill him – without ever actually having to come into direct contact with her.

Whenever he walked by her room on his way to do this or that, he always stopped to press his ear on the door to see if he could hear something. He never did hear a peep, but once he thought he heard her giggle and say, "Oh, Hermione, you sure showed him!"

Draco was beginning to think that Hermione Granger was going nuts.

Then again, he was the one that was eavesdropping on her and breaking into her room in the middle of the night. But… but she was just so damned annoying! Every single thing that spewed from her unclean mouth was insolent and stubborn and usually an insult! It was as if Granger thought she was someone like him, a pureblood with every right to say whatever the hell he wanted because his blood allowed him that privilege. Surely it was in everyone's best interests for him to stay away from her when all he really wanted to do was shove her in a hole and leave her there.

Draco Malfoy was in no way afraid of his prisoner. Afterall, she didn't even have a wand. She was harmless. Yes, he thought, as harmless as a lioness on the prowl. Completely harmless.

And that nicely explained why she tried to eat his neck.

He liked to think that he got the better of her in that instant… he knew he caught her off guard. Maybe it showed that for all her struggling – which he hazily remembered there being little of – he was still more powerful than her, that she would have to do what he wanted and like it while she did it.

Wow. That sounded dirty. Disgusting!

Draco forced himself away from the mirror, violently rubbing his neck in a vain attempt to rid it of the sudden tingly sensation, making a face. He had brooded over the kiss that lasted by all his calculations less than a minute for a week. Seven fucking days. He had hidden – no, stealthily avoided – Granger for seven days. He let her think she was the cleverer one for seven days.

Maybe it was time for Granger to learn how to use those spells she was learning about.

Then they would see who the smarter and more cunning person was.

Maybe.

**XXXXX**

A/N: Whew! It has been a long time! ): My apologies. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because I know I enjoyed writing it! I was itching to get a little Draco/Hermione action in this story, and having a little competition of wills seemed like the way to go about it. (:

Thank you for reviewing: **OBLuvr13** and **vampiregurl** You guys are great!

As always, review! I like to know your thoughts, and there may be a present in it for you. (:


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